She did the usual “No, it's way too soon!!  Who knows!” which is womanspeak for “I think so too!!!  And he has blue eyes, so our babies will too!  I just need to be careful to reveal my craziness in small, manageable increments.”

 I asked when his last relationship was, she said “it was fairly recent.  They were together for awhile.  He’s 40.”

 RECORD SCRATCH.

 He’s 40?  Wo.  Way to bury the lede!  I mean he’s way cute.  Hmm.  Wow.”

 “Michelle, you do know we’re in our thirties now.  It’s not that weird anymore.  It's less than ten years apart.”

Now technically, I am still in my twenties.  (For three more weeks.  I might have mentioned it?  I don’t like to make a big deal of my birthdays, but if you’re so inclined I would kill for the Dean Martin Roasts on DVD)  She was right.  We are older now.  When we were in our early twenties it was completely normal to date someone who was around 30.  At the time, they seemed mature and were so appreciative of the fact that we knew absolutely nothing and were over the moon when one of them would spring for a whole dinner to accompany all the numerous drinks we drank to keep up with them to seem older and world weary.  I remember one date I went on when I was still living in LA.  I was 22, had unfortunate caramel highlights which accentuated my dark eyebrows for a Desperately Seeking Susan effect.  How can I best describe how short my Forever 21 skirt was?  I could have easily gone directly from drinks to a gynecological exam and no changing would be necessary.  There is no way possible way I could sit on the subway wearing that.  It was short.  My 29 year old self would have a migraine from all the judgy sideeye I’d be giving my 22 year old self.  I remember I paired that skirt with a white tanktop and black bra underneath and necklaces in an effort to emulate Sarah Jessica Parker.  While I still do use her as a style barometer, I am aiming for something more “Sarah Jessica Parker at a benefit reading of The Merchant of Venice/ Sarah Jessica Parker dropping her son off at elementary school.”  I remember that night asking this guy if the age difference between us bothered him at all.  “Uh, no.  I don’t really think about it.  You’re very mature.”   Once again I’d like to point out that my skirt could be described as cervix-grazing.  I remember thinking “Uh oh.  I think this guy has what women’s magazines refer to as a fear of commitment.  He doesn’t want to be with girls his own age because they’d expect more and be more likely to call him out on his stuff.  I wonder if his three roommates, propensity towards ironic t-shirts, and copious amounts of signed movie posters could have an indicator at all?”

“No, 40 is great-“ I told her.  “Very mature.” 

I guess it’s just weird that now we are going to have to start to be attracted to guys who are the same age as our friends dads were when we were 10.  In fairness though, being 40 in 2012 is entirely different than it was in 1992.

Ways 40 Year Old Men are Different in 2012 vs. 1992:

For starters, we have gastropubs now.  I told my Dad recently about a dinner I had the night before at a gastropub and tried to describe how great it was.  “So it’s like bar food?”  “Well, I mean – the gastropub movement is more unique to major urban American cities.  You really won’t find one in the suburbs.  Like pickles – they fry them in a duck confit then you dip them in a goose infused jelly and it is garnished with maple cured pork belly.”  “Can I get a burger there?”  “Well.  Yes.”  “Great, I love bar food!"

Guys our dad’s generation usually went straight from college to being married in their early twenties.  Since most guys now are delaying marriage into their early thirties and beyond they must find activities to preoccupy themselves, since they will have no part in previous generations’ hobbies of sitting on a bench waiting for their wives to try on work pants.  Hobbies can be a great thing.  Hanging out with friends, drinking, indie comedy and music shows, and trying fancy restaurants are all things I can get behind.  Apparently these things get to be boring by the time one is 28.  That’s when they enter the ‘I actually brew my own beer” phase of life.  This is when you know they are ready to settle down.  You must enter their lives at just this moment.  If you delay at all, they will immediately shack up with the first girl they meet who owns her own Etsy store, or they will enter the “I have my own podcast and will be too intense about discussing notes in wines for my hobbies have taken over my life” phase of life.

Finally, we must discuss video games.  Remember how in “Big” it was so laughable and absurd to see a fourteen year old in the body of a full grown 40 year old man?  The thought of a thirty year old guy still being extremely interested in video games and awkward around women was unchartered territory.  I have seen my dad play two games in my entire life.  One was Pong in the mid-80s.  The other was “Minesweeper” which used to come standard on PCs.  His love of it knew no bounds.  It was a game of calculating mathematical possibilities, and heroism.  I’d like to think he gave it a backstory of sparing remote villages and protecting women and children from landmines through using math.  But I remember not being able to access our computer to use for homework (read: AOL chatrooms geared toward “musical fans!”) for two weekends while he obsessed with Minesweeper.  He cut his addiction cold turkey.  He removed it from our computer, and his weekends went back to being spent as they always were; following my mom around crafts fairs and eating dinner at 5:30.  In 2012, this would never happen.  Even the most masculine of men will still need to play Madden at least a few times a week.  We must accept this.

So basically a 2012 forty  year old is like a 1994 26 year old.  Just please, for the love of God, never tuck any type of shirts into your jeans.