Did My Husband Rob The Cradle?
I was still a teenager when I met my then 25-year-old husband.
“I want you guys to know that I am specifically looking for someone older. I am done dating guys my age,” I confidently told my mom and dad one day. The words every parent wants to hear from their nineteen-year-old daughter.
My parents knew me well enough to know that I wasn’t just going to date anyone. I was throwing away guys left and right.
“Hey, what happened to that one guy you were talking to?” they’d ask.
“Oh yeah, he really started annoying me. I was over it,” I’d say shrugging.
I wasn’t affected by all the dating that comes with dating apps. If a guy didn’t work out, I was simply one step closer to my husband. I didn’t have time for tears.
Desperation wasn’t in my vocabulary. Settling wasn’t something I was okay with. I was on the search for my husband, and I wouldn’t stop for anything less.
So, when I told my parents that a guy my age just wouldn’t be able to give me what I wanted, they nodded in agreement.
“How old are you thinking?” my mom asked.
“At least, 24.”
