He says I’m unlike anyone he’s ever met before.
I respond, “you must not have met many women in your life.”
He shakes his head, laughs and studies my face in disbelief at my thoughtless response.
But I know what he’s talking about.
I don’t swoon or squirm over his highly paid medical job or that he’s the 2nd youngest person in his position at work.
“I just bought a Benz,” he says.
I crinkle up my nose. “You really should have kept the Jeep. Summer is coming up and now you have a car when you could have had a roofless Jeep! What a mistake.”
I think he finds me amusing, despite our age difference, at how little I care over things other women might.
“I’m going to be quite blunt with you,” I laugh. “I don’t care about your money, or your degrees, or how big your muscles are, or your expensive cars or the famous friends you have. I want to know your soul. Does your soul connect with mine? Because when all of that other stuff is stripped from you, what is left? That’s what I want to know.”
And to be honest with you, I don’t think that at 32 years old, a woman has ever said that to him.