A New Acquaintance, Already 59, Told Me He’s Searching for a Wife No Older Than 30. When I Asked Why, His Answer Made Me Laugh and Ache at the Same Time

I’m forty-six years old. I’ve been self-employed for twelve years, earning a steady income. I’ve never been married, and I don’t have children.

My new acquaintance, Anton, is fifty-nine. His profile photo showed a composed, polished man—tailored suit, silver at his temples, confident expression. In our messages, he came across as courteous and articulate. No crude remarks, no awkward hints. Everything about him seemed respectable.

One evening, out of simple curiosity, I searched his name online and happened to stumble across his dating profile. I opened it without much thought.

Then I read the line that made me pause:

“Looking for a wife. Age 25–32. I’m 59.”

I closed the page and told myself it wasn’t my concern. His personal life was his business. But the next morning, before our scheduled meeting, I found myself wondering what he would say if I asked him about it directly.

Anton arrived exactly on time. Tall, well-dressed, wearing an expensive suit, a refined watch, and a subtle, pleasant cologne. We sat in a café and discussed the work project. He spoke clearly, efficiently. The professional side of the meeting went perfectly.

When we wrapped up, he relaxed slightly and said,

“It’s refreshing working with such a professional woman. Most specialists just talk without substance.”

I smiled and thanked him.

Gradually, the conversation shifted from business to personal topics.

“Are you married?” he asked.

“No.”

“Did your career get in the way?”

“I just haven’t met the right person,” I said.

He nodded and shared that he had been single for two years after his divorce and was now looking to build a relationship again.

“Are you using dating apps?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “My profile is active. I know exactly what I want, so I filter carefully.”

I decided not to circle around the topic.

“I saw your profile,” I said. “It says you’re looking for a woman under thirty-two. Is that important to you?”

He answered without hesitation.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He took a slow sip of coffee before replying.

“Because…” he began.

What he said next made me laugh—and at the same time, feel unexpectedly sad.

“Younger women are easier. They don’t live in the past, they don’t complain, and they take life more lightly.”

I felt a wave of discomfort.

“So women your own age only live in the past?” I asked.

“In most cases, yes,” he replied calmly. “Constant complaints, resentments, dissatisfaction. They’re difficult.”

I set my spoon down slowly.

“And are you easy?” I asked. “You’ve had two divorces. You run a serious business full of stress and problems. You talk about your difficulties too. And you have health issues.”

He frowned.

“I’m not complaining. I’m stating facts.”

“So when a woman talks about her challenges, that’s complaining?”

He began to look irritated.

“I just want comfort,” he said.

“Comfort meaning someone who doesn’t argue and looks at you admiringly?”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“No,” I said evenly. “You don’t want a woman your own age because she would be your equal.”

He pushed his cup away sharply.

“I thought you were reasonable,” he said, “but apparently you’re too principled.”

“Not all men are bad,” I replied. “But when a fifty-nine-year-old specifically seeks thirty-year-olds and justifies it by saying women his age are ‘too heavy,’ that says a lot.”

He stood up abruptly.

“We shouldn’t work together. You’re confrontational.”

“I simply don’t agree with dismissing women my age in advance,” I said.

He gathered his tablet quickly and left.

I stayed behind and finished my now-cold coffee. I paid only for myself—I don’t accept even a cup of coffee from men who think like that.

That evening, I kept replaying our conversation in my mind.

I’m forty-six. Yes, I have wrinkles. A few gray strands.

I’ve started two businesses—one failed, the second succeeded. I’ve taken loans and paid them back. I buried my father. I helped my mother recover from illness. I know what it means to work sixteen-hour days and keep going anyway.

I don’t live in the past.

I live in reality—a reality that includes both hardship and triumph.

But he’s searching for a woman who hasn’t faced real storms yet. Someone who won’t question two divorces. Who won’t notice the blood pressure medication at night. Someone who will simply admire him.

He isn’t looking for a partner.

He’s looking for the illusion that he’s still young—and untarnished.