What's His Age Again?

I don't know when coincidence became a pattern, but I realized recently that I've gotten involved with a suspicious number of 23 year old men during my time as an adult.

I suppose that was fine when I was 23.  Or 25.  But now 23 means they were born in the 90s.  That they were still in high school when I started teaching.  That they were in eighth grade when I went to college.  That they were barely in elementary school when I went to middle school.  That they weren't even conceived when the Berlin Wall fell.  I mean, I don't remember it, but damn, at least I was alive.  I was probably bingeing on Sesame Street when it happened.  (Actually, I looked it up.  It was a Thursday.  I went to school that day.   I went to school before they were even born.)

It's probably actually not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things.  Plenty of people end up with significant others more than 6 years their senior or junior.  The difference, of course, is that right now six years puts us at opposite ends of our twenties, a decade that spans a vast spectrum of life choices and decisions.  While I am in my seventh year of my career and buying a house, many twenty-three year old men are still deciding whether or not it's okay to go back and party at their old frat when they visit.  And while it is in fact perfectly legitimate for a 23 year old to party with buddies who are still in college, it's pretty weird for a 28 year old to do that.  I can imagine the conversation:

TwentyThree: Hey, I'm going to visit college friends this weekend.  Wanna come?
Me: Sure.  What do you have planned?
TwentyThree: My frat is having a party, so probably a lot of beer pong.
Me: Isn't that game pretty unsanitary?  I mean, people vomit on the same floor the ball bounces on when you miss.
TwentyThree: ...

My sister's best friend is turning 21 this Sunday in Atlanta and invited me to celebrate when I shared that I'd be there this weekend. "You're more than welcome to join us, but just so you know, it'll be an apartment party and then a crappy college bar."  I took a moment to imagine myself in a college apartment, surrounded by 21 year olds, and I just couldn't.  Those were good times, but I'm over it.

This past weekend, I was hanging out at Oktoberfest in Kenner, and a volleyball friend of mine asked me about the guy from Saturday night in Florida.  "He's 23," I said, assuming that's all that needed to be said.  My friend seemed unfazed: "Some guys were 23 when they were 18.  Some guys are still 18 when they turn 23."  He then proceeded to share with me about the only two guys he knows that are single, one of whom was sitting right next to him (and probably overhearing our conversation).  A guy that I later found out is...23.

I know, it's a little scary.

This realization of my unconscious affinity for 23 year olds has made me a little nervous about guys that I meet or run into.  On the way out of work the other day, I was trying to cross the street as a car was pulling out into traffic and a bike was riding up.  The guy on the bike saw me, smiled, and then slowed down.  "It's dangerous trying to cross," he said. "It's like playing frogger."  He then smiled at me again before speeding back up.  I think that guy was hitting on me, I said to myself.  ...I bet he's 23.  And then I got in my car and laughed.

Me: I'm terrible at telling how old people are.  I swear to God, I thought that last 23 year old I kissed was 30.
Friend: (laughs) What are you going to do?  Card every guy you meet?
Me: ...

I just might have to.

Call me Mrs Robinson.