These days, we’re told that labels don’t really matter. We’re all unique individuals—at least that’s the mantra I keep hearing. No label should box us in. We’re the architects of our own lives. Ditch the labels. Ditch the stereotypes. You get the drift.
So, why do I absolutely cringe at the title “girlfriend”?
I’m in my mid-30s, and he’s in his mid-50s—yes, there’s an 18-year gap if you care to do the math. We both have a history of marriage; this isn’t our first rodeo. We’re mature adults who haven’t tied the knot… yet. When we talk about each other, the only terms that seem to fit are “girlfriend” and “boyfriend.” And that just feels odd. Seriously, we’ve had long debates about this over dinner.
Who do I think I am? A teenager sneaking in after curfew? A college student cramming for finals? He’s not some love-struck kid trying to sneak a kiss in the backseat of a car. (He’s a grown man with a motorcycle, which is way cooler, if you ask me.) I’m a grown woman, and I want a better label, please!
Don’t get me wrong; we’ve experimented with other titles. The few times I’ve referred to Tom as my partner, I was mistaken for a lesbian. Nothing wrong with that, but it was awkward to clarify—especially when I had to explain that Tom is definitely a guy. Who feels awkward now? That led to a whole lot of “not that there’s anything wrong with it” talk, but I made it clear that Tom is all man.
“Significant other” sounds clunky and distant. “Yes, meet Tom, my significant other. Yes, I love him deeply. He’s, um, significant.” Talk about weird.
I’ve let repairmen and nosy neighbors think we’re married. Sure, I’m his wife—minus the shared last names and the rings we don’t wear. Oh, when the day comes, he better be ready to put a ring on it. (I might even have a little dance party like Beyoncé when he does!)
“Lady friend” or “gentleman friend” makes it sound a bit sketchy, and while I’m not against a little fun, it’s hardly appropriate for office holiday parties or parent-teacher meetings.
He sometimes calls me “Sweetheart” (yeah, I blush a little, whatever), but referring to him as “Big Guy” to match would probably make my mom faint, my kids ask really awkward questions, and his coworkers think all sorts of things. Too much hassle, and honestly, too reminiscent of Blanche Devereaux from The Golden Girls, who I do adore for her fun-loving spirit.
He’s not a sugar daddy, and I’m not a sugar baby. (Not sure what that means? A quick Google search will enlighten you—but maybe keep the kids out of the room to avoid awkward discussions.)
It always circles back to “girlfriend” and “boyfriend,” even though it makes me squirm.
We have two options: Get over it or get married. Since we’re on our own timeline figuring things out, jumping into marriage just to change the label seems silly.
So, I suppose we could learn to live with it—until the next time he introduces me as his girlfriend. I can’t promise there won’t be a loud primal scream echoing across the globe.
Someone needs to come up with a new term—one that resonates with those of us navigating this peculiar phase of life with previous partners, new loves, and a reluctance to marry just for a name.
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Summary
Navigating relationships in middle adulthood can feel perplexing, especially when it comes to labels. Despite the push to reject traditional terms, many find themselves grappling with titles like “girlfriend” and “boyfriend,” which can feel juvenile. This humorous exploration reveals the struggle of finding the right way to define love and connection without succumbing to societal norms.