It has ever been thus; I don’t know why. I never even entertained the notion of dating anyone younger than me until a certain Frog walked into my life last year. If girls are supposed to be more mature than guys, by that logic even a guy my own age should be too immature for me (This has proved the case on a number of occasions). But heck, for that matter I’ve dated guys ten years older than me who were too immature, so who’s to say someone younger couldn’t be especially mature?
All of this is but a mere preamble to a confession that I am loathe to make because of all the taboos associated with it: there are some really cute boys at the university where I teach.
I’m not trying to date them, mind you. But after my last class of the day ended yesterday, one particularly charming blond came into the room and asked if he could sit in on the class he had just missed. He was tall, wearing a navy blue peacoat with a soft orange scarf jauntily knotted around his neck. He grinned at me, revealing a slight gap between his front teeth that made him look like Dennis the Menace all grown up and driving the girls crazy in a whole new way. I wanted to tell him no, you’re too cute, you can’t be my student, that puts me in a problematic position. But I told him yes because I had room in the course, and because it’s hard to tell any student, even a cute one, that they can’t take your class.
He wrote his name and email address on my notebook so I could contact him if there were any problems with his registration. I just googled him and found out he is (or was) a Scout. A Boy Scout! No no no no no, I smiled, glad to have found another deterrent to lusting after him (besides the fact that he’s my student and younger than me). I could never sleep with a Scoot.