Today I went on a lunch date with my friend Gael. Spent the time catching up since we haven’t seen ea. other all school year, &c., &c. Which would make this a superiorly boring blog post if she didn’t also happen to be my good friend Kaleb’s mom. This makes her more than twice my age. Oh and my friend’s MOM.
Not to say that we painted each other’s toenails or helped each other with our tampons, or any other disturbing images. Mostly: sandwiches and I told her about my classes. Big fucking whoop. But it did make me wonder why we put limits on the age differences between friends. True, it’s less controversial (less beloved, if you work for E! News) than the difference between Demi and Ashton’s ages. And admittedly less taboo than pedophilia. Still: I’ve clicked really well with two former teachers, ages 27 and 36. And Gael is awesome.
Shit. Am I just a brownnoser?
No. My feelings about these people are a little more complex than satisfaction at being able to please or entertain someone who is (omg) OLDER than I am. We’ve established that people from different backgrounds can get along great. Fuck, I’m in love with a boy who grew up on the other side of the planet and whose racial composition doesn’t match mine at all. Doesn’t seem like much of a stretch to assume that two people from different generations can be total bffs.
Man, I seriously am in love with that boy, though.
