What I Was Really Thinking When I Decided To Say “I Do” to a Rich Older Man: Part 1

It was finally the day of my wed­ding. I had been in a May-December rela­tion­ship with Kee­gan for a long time—we even had a baby together—and in a lit­tle while, our rela­tion­ship would finally become a marriage.

That morn­ing, I left Kee­gan with the baby, along with the respon­si­bil­ity of bring­ing my dress to the recep­tion hall while I went ahead to see how every­thing was com­ing along. On the drive to the hall with my friend Laura, I was being bom­barded with phone calls and text mes­sages, of which I tried answer­ing and arrang­ing every­thing as calmly as I could, until my iPhone froze on me. Com­pletely froze. There was noth­ing I could do to get it to work again, and out of all days. I smashed the phone off of the dash­board repeat­edly until the airbag sen­sor dinged on my car. The irony of it all was absolutely hilar­i­ous to us.

We finally arrived at the hall 45 min­utes later. The moment we made it to the entrance of the build­ing, we were being inter­ro­gated. Who’s sit­ting where? How are the tables being arranged? Where will the cook­ies be? Shit, we for­got the cook­ies. For­tu­nately, Kee­gan was still at home and could grab them. Where will the cakes go? Shit, we for­got those, too. We really weren’t think­ing too clearly and only man­aged to bring the dec­o­ra­tions this morning—that’s what hap­pens when you try to plan a small, low-key wedding.

The caterer arrived shortly after as we were all inside try­ing to work out the table arrange­ments. We had to move every­thing around to accom­mo­date the caterer and by the time we were done, guests had already started to arrive.

My brides­maids were work­ing on their hair and makeup and the grooms­men were all start­ing to get dressed when one of them, Richard, came run­ning at me scream­ing, “Vivian! LOOK! I am so sorry! They gave me the wrong color suit! Look at this shit!” Richard, at six-foot-four, looked like a mas­sive eye­sore in a ridicu­lous pur­ple and black suit with hot pink high­lights down the sides of the pants and on the vest. I was mor­ti­fied. All I remem­ber think­ing was, “This isn’t hap­pen­ing, this isn’t happening…”

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About Vivian

I am 26 and my husband 45. At first, our friendship existed mostly online. I was actually helping my now husband with his dating profile when it dawned on me that he was exactly what I was looking for in a perfect life partner. So, I asked him out and we have been together ever since. We now have two daughters together and everyone that knows us will tell you that they simply can’t imagine us apart, and neither can we. I’m no stranger to May-December relationships—my father was 71 and my mother was 33 when I was born. I have never dated a guy my own age. Anything less than 10 years older than me just seems wrong, and frankly, it doesn’t even turn me on in the slightest bit to think about it. It’s actually a turn-off. After going through relationships with a few rich older men, I finally settled down with my husband. I’m sure there were people waging bets on how quickly our marriage would fall apart, but we’re determined to prove them all wrong.