When I was a teenager, I did volunteer work at a bird of prey rehabilitation center. One of the other volunteers was a dude who had a couple of daughters around my age and, over the years, he became kind of like an uncle-type to me. In '99 he got diagnosed with a really hardcore variety of cancer and the doctors said, "Um, six months, if you're lucky." Then he flipped cancer the bird and now it's ten years later.
In the process, he and his wife got divorced - the marriage couldn't handle the big C, and then he moved out to the east coast. I've talked with him sporadically since then, he got re-married to a gal from the Phillipines, and in May he told me the cancer had come back. A few days later, thinking that no news is bad news, etc. I sent him an e-mail. Turns out, he's not dead. Whew. (Yeah, I know that sounds callus, but it's callousness with love, I promise.)
He is now on facebook, though, and I got my first look at his Phillipina love. I'm disturbed a bit. Cancer guy was born in '62, his new wife was born in '87. That means I'm older than her. I'm a bit skeeved out, I must confess. But, they seem very happy with each other, and, let's be super realistic here, this is not exactly a normal marriage - the til death do us part aspect of it all is a little different when you marry a guy with terminal cancer. Still, whatever, it's weird.
Then again, my wonderful friend Constance is very happily married to a man who's 16 years older than her, and Amanda thinks my ideal guy is going to be about twelve years older than me. This age difference thing is complex. How far does it have to go to cross from "age is just a number" into creepy-land?
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