Confession. Recently I have dabbled in the pool of 18 year old, freshman boys. By dabbled I of course mean I have simply dipped a toe or two into the water. Confession 2. Maybe it was a foot. Or possibly a leg. Ok, ok so maybe I took a running leap and swan dived into that pool. In any case, I dabbled.
It all started with C. I met him at a dance. He got my number and the texting began.
3 weeks of knowing each other: He told me he liked me. I told him he was 18.
5 weeks of knowing each other: He told me he wanted to date me. I told him I saw problems in a relationship because of his age.
7 weeks of knowing each other: He asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes. Turns out 18 year olds are determined.
It also turns out that 18 year olds are well…young. C asked me if it was ok if he took someone to prom. I laughed. Realized he wasn’t joking and laughed again. Realized I was to old to even be allowed in to prom as something other than a chaperone and felt like crying. There I was jealous of a 16-year old girl. Feeling old is an odd sensation.
Needless to say 18 year olds are just as volatile as they are carefree and just as quickly as C’s and my relationship took a step forward he was gone. I didn’t mourn his loss. He was 18 and 18 means no commitment. Tip of Advice: An 18 year old is just about to leave to what us, cougars, can only hope will be another country for two years. Nothing says goodbye quite like a suit, tie, and plane ticket across the world.
Last week a boy gave me his number. I asked how old he is. 18. I didn’t bother to text him. I’ve sworn off 18 year olds. No dating them, no kissing them, no involvement. So to all my past 18-year old boys, thank you. Thank you for being young and carefree. Thank you for being fun, and flirty. Thank you for being 18.
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