“Is that your dad?” “She’s dating her grandpa.” “You must like sucking soggy balls.” 💅
Oh, sweetie, thank you for the unsolicited input, but the peanut gallery wasn’t invited.
Internet, meet my Karl, aka Rod Maldaner
This absolute icon in human form is my boyfriend, my safe space, my favorite spot on the map, and my peace. He’s my giggles, my grounding, my travel partner, my absolute rock, and yes, the cowboy I ride.
“bUt YoU sHoUlD bE wItH sOmEoNe YoUr OwN aGe!”
Fine, I’ll bite.
My ex-husband was three days younger than me. Three. Fucking. Days. Our moms were hospital room neighbors when we were born; classic rom-com, right? Except he turned out to be my worst enemy.
He beat me. Pulled a gun on me. Punched holes in my walls. Left me with revenge porn I can never erase. For 12 agonizing years, I walked on razor-sharp eggshells while he dripped his toxic hatred into me until I actually believed it. He chose video games, alcohol, and drugs over his own kids while I carried the entire world on my back.
After his arrest, I tried dating men my age. Total toddlers. Men with zero real responsibilities, living like teenagers, while I was raising five kids and changing hundreds of thousands of diapers.
Newsflash: I’m 34, but my life stage is lightyears ahead of these boys. I didn’t need another kid to raise; I needed a real man who could match my capacity.
Enter Rod.
He didn’t run. He stepped up and became the dad my kids never knew existed. He goes to therapy. His emotional intelligence is on a next level. His love wraps around all six of us. He knows the weight of my life, and he helps carry it without ever being asked.
So yeah, we have an age gap. A massive, glorious 29-year gap.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything on this planet.
Don’t like it? Keep scrolling.
But that ’70s dick is where it’s at.
Yeehaw! 😉
