There is just something about hearing a 50-something-year-old woman say, "My boyfriend," that makes me wince. I don't care if he's 25 (which in this case he is not) or 86; if your ovaries are out of order, refer to him as the man we all hope he is, please. I'm broadcasting this now in the event that I'm still single at and beyond age 40 and I ever utter such a phrase.
You can laugh in my face, smack me upside the head and/or roll your eyes.
And do so freely.
I beg of you.