A new acquaintance, already 59 years old, told me he’s looking for a wife no older than 30. When I asked him why, his answer made me both laugh and feel sad 😂😨

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

My new acquaintance, Anton, is fifty-nine. His profile picture showed a strict, polished image: suit, gray at the temples, confident gaze. In messages, he was polite, articulate, no crude hints. Everything seemed respectable.

Out of curiosity one evening, I searched his name online and accidentally came across his dating profile. I opened it and read: “Looking for a wife. Age 25–32. I’m 59.”

I closed the page and told myself it was his personal business. But the next morning, before our meeting, I wondered what he would say if I asked him directly.

Anton arrived exactly on time. Tall, well-groomed, expensive suit, nice watch, pleasant cologne. We sat in a café and discussed the project. He spoke clearly and to the point. The business part went smoothly.

When we finished, he relaxed and said:

“It’s nice working with such a professional woman. Most specialists just talk nonsense.”

I smiled and thanked him.

Gradually the conversation shifted to personal matters.

“Are you married?” he asked.

“No.”

“Did your career get in the way?”

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

Anton nodded and said he’d been single for two years after his divorce and was now looking for a relationship.

“Are you trying dating sites?” I asked.

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

I decided to be direct.

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

He answered calmly:

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He took a sip of coffee and said:

“Because…” 😲☹️

After what he said next, I couldn’t help but laugh—and at the same time, I felt sad 😢 

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

I felt uncomfortable.

“So women your age only live in the past?”

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

I put my spoon down in my cup.

“And are you easy? You’ve had two divorces, you run a serious business with constant problems. You talk about difficulties too. And you have health issues as well.”

He frowned.

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

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

He started to get irritated.

“I just want comfort.”

“Comfort meaning a girl who doesn’t argue and looks up at you?”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“No. You don’t want a woman your own age because she would be an equal partner.”

He abruptly pushed his cup away.

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

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

He stood up.

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

“I simply don’t agree with writing off women my age in advance.”

He quickly packed up his tablet and left.

I stayed in the café and finished my cold coffee. I paid only for myself—I don’t even accept a cup of coffee from men with those views.

That evening at home, I thought about our conversation for a long time. I’m forty-six. I have wrinkles and gray hairs. I’ve launched two businesses—one failed, the second succeeded.

I’ve taken loans and paid them off. I buried my father and helped my mother recover from illness. I know what it means to work sixteen-hour days and not give up.

I don’t live in the past. I live in reality—a reality with both problems and victories.

But he wants a girl who hasn’t faced serious hardships yet. One who won’t ask about two divorces. Who won’t notice the blood pressure pills at night. Who will simply admire him.

He doesn’t want a woman.

He wants the illusion that he is still young and flawless.