Summer 2018.
I was at my therapist Barbara’s. She’s sitting in her La-Z-Boy chair. The blanket pulled up to her chin. Her red curly hair. Her Yoplait yogurt. Her phone on the edge of the La-Z-Boy chair, sometimes going off with her getting very frustrated at it for going off, like the phone personally insulted her.
I tell Barbara in therapy that I’ve been really thinking about this a lot. I find many older people for friendships but not for romantic relationships.
My therapist Barbara put her Yoplait down, which for Barbara is like the Pope putting down the Bible, and she looked at me and she goes, “Honey, if you want a partner you need to age down. Because if you pick somebody older than you, well, men die before women. Ten years or more before women, but it’s a gap of at least ten years. So you have to be dating a man ten years younger than you if you want a partner that isn’t gonna die or be incontinent for most of your relationship.”
And I thought about it. And she’s right. Barbara’s always right, which is annoying but also why I pay her.
Something’s Gotta Give by Nancy Meyers. Still of Frances McDormand.