I was at the bar on Tuesday when the group chat went berserk: my cousin sent a podcast, and my auntie sent a smirk and a very thoughtful link: a boy of nineteen and a woman of fifty-seven were a scandal, a study, a caution and a leven of the social loaf, and the boy, poor lamb, was being groomed. I wasn't groomed. I set the filter: 55 TO .. exhumed... hehe. And underneath, my auntie put, Time you grew up — as a joke, and as a dig — and I've taken it as a brief, like a barrister in a wig. So I ordered one more lager, shut my eyes, and saw a sensible country: a world where it's the law, and the law is on every door, where the minimal age gap ratio's.. printed tall, two and a half to one, and the ratio's admired, and the only thing that's minor is the thing that they desire A woman or a man, the state's not fussed: at nineteen, you're issued forty-seven and a half — it's in Schedule Two, sub-section nine, the second paragraph. At eighteen, forty-five — that's a teacher. At nineteen, forty-eight — that's a headmistress. At twenty, fifty — that's a judge. At twenty-one, fifty-three — that's a goddess. At twenty-four, sixty. At twenty-five, sixty-three. And you're free. And you're free. To never date anyone your age, Thanks, Jeez-us! And mine was fifty-seven, and the silver in her hair was legal tender, and the carpet matched, and I was the legal heir, and she wasn't my mother, and she wasn't my teacher, and she wasn't my nurse: she was a fact. She was a fact, and the fact was in.. verse and the verse was in a statute, and the statute was in the state, and the state said, You're a very fine young man. And I said, GREAT! And then the state did the maths. Fifty-seven over nineteen: three. The law says two and a half. I was over it. So was she — she was over me, which is where she likes to be. And I looked round my sensible country, and it was very clean, and very well laid out, with roundabouts, like Milton Keynes, and there were SO MANY older ones I would want to have .. YOU KNOW WHAT.. with. My mate Tom is going out with a girl his own age. We don't talk about it. We don't bring it up. We turn the page. He brings her down the pub, and we're polite, and we're polite, and she's lovely, and she's still on factory settings, and somebody says goodnight, and Tom goes home with a girl who's nineteen, and we all feel the way you feel about a lad who's settled for a bad deal: sorry for him, mostly, and relieved it's not you, it's him So I opened my eyes, in a pub gone quiet for the quiz, and, in for a penny, I gave them the answer, and it's this: She's fifty-seven. I'm nineteen. We're joint at the hip, and the hip's been replaced, and it works (my) every bit Her daughter's thirty-eight, and she's been giving me looks. Neh - she's Too young. And the room went even quieter, and Dave said, You're joking, and I said, I'm not, and Dave said, You lucky sod. And when they call you a victim — and they will, and they'll mean it kindly — say thank you, and take the drink, and don't correct them What'll you do when she's older? ...... she' ALREADY old - (*that's fair*) ... NO, what will you do when she is really old? ...... inherit! -- haha! ..... You told me to grow up, and I grew up. I skipped a generation or two , that's what's up You told me to grow up, and I grew up.... Out of you! You told me to grow up, and I grew up. I skipped a generation or two , that's what's up.. haha .. .....
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