Many of my friends are surprised when they meet J. and realize he’s quite a bit older than I am. More specifically, he’ll be 53 in a couple of weeks and I just turned 35. Honestly, though? It hasn’t been much of an issue for us — besides the obvious reactions of “she’s interested in me?” (for J.) and “I’m attracted to him?” (for me). But that was AGES ago, and by now I think it’s pretty much a non-issue. He’s more active than most men I know who are half is age, and he has what I think is a pretty sexy body. And, even more important, he has the sort of life experiences I can really relate to. Whereas when I married The Electrician (when I was 23, he was a month away from turning 35), I had barely been an adult long enough to know how to balance my checkbook regularly, by now I’ve had so much happen to me and in my life that I think it would take someone 18 years older to understand the magnitude of it all. Which is shorthand for saying: yeah, he’s older than I am. Get over it. We like each other, the chemistry is fabulous, and he actually appreciates me as a person. And, oh yeah, he was raised during a time when chivalry was alive and kicking, which means he knows how to treat a lady. (That would be me.). Namaste.