Q. Really, how much is 9 years?

Here's the run-down. I met him a week ago under strange and funny circumstances. We bonded over a long car ride. He was initially bothered by my age (or lack thereof) , but has since, it seems, reconciled that feeling, but not to the point of being uninformed or indifferent of it (creepy). Reason tells me that it's a bad idea to get involved with this guy on a variety of bases. The biggest ones are age-related.

1. When I was a squalling infant in my mother's arms, he was learning long division.
2. When I was wishing I could go to school like the big kids, he was losing his virginity.
3. When I was at the last leg of my time using pink Barbie toothpaste, he was heading to college.
4. When I was entering the age of parental defiance, he was living up the college experience and all that entails.

Since I consider myself duty-bound to confess all things unto you, the readers of the Boy Blog, I must also give the reasons that reason might lose this battle. I might add that I am fully aware of their superficial nature.

1. He has a motorcycle. A really, really fast one.
2. He's a certified pilot and is going to take me flying sometime.
3. He's pretty cute.

As I scampered into Alice Child's room last night after his departure, I was accosted with strong accusations of unwise decisions and a forthcoming storm I could be bringing on myself. As Alice and Friends pointed out the flaws in my desire to overlook the age difference (a feat he's seemingly better at than I), I used weak defenses to block their razor-sharp statements. Alice says, "He's going to teach you how to drive his motorcycle, is he? That's not all he wants to teach you!" and all I hear is his voice saying, "You're the cutest thing I've ever seen" (which does actually make me feel young). Alice says, "He's going to take you flying, is he? Is he planning on making you a member of the Mile High Club?" (I had to google it - found it at the urban dictionary website. Of course.) And I just think how much I would LOVE to go flying.

Beyond the previously mentioned superficial reasons that reason may fail, I had to ask myself the unbearable question: do I actually like him? And I don't actually know the answer. I should, I think, like him. I just don't know if I do, and if I don't, all other points are moot. Or, at least, they should be. Right? On top of a myriad of other negatives that I need not discuss, there is the most important that is looming over me like the esca on a deep sea anglerfish.

Q. Really, how much is 9 years?

A. Too much.