Thursday, May 10

Cougar, My ASS.

I just heard someone else's definition of a Cougar.  Do you know what I am talking about?
 
It's Mrs. Robinson for the new millennium.  (Millennia? Whatever.)
 
I've been familiar with the term, and thought it was hilarious and appropriate.
THIS definition is not so funny.    They (and I'll be damned if I can remember what TV program I saw) defined Cougar as a woman past thirty pursuing a man at least ten years her junior.  Ladies of a certain age have already HAD happily ever after (or made their own).  Who in their right mind would mind a little something fresh and fabulous, with that stamina and enthusiasm and those lovely washboard abs...         ...hmm?  oh, right. 
 
Any woman past thirty?  Excuse me?  I picture a Cougar being Joan Collins with a pool boy perched on her knee.  I KNEW a cougar.  She came to work with me at the bookstore, fresh from a bitter divorce.  She eventually left the bookstore and went to manage a Bath & Body Works. 
 
Trudy was AWESOME.  She started out looking like a school teacher.  She was a tiny lady, with an elfin face and a pixie haircut, in her late forties or early fifties, with glasses.  She was smart and funny, with an acerbic wit that she kept under wraps until we were alone.  Trudy blossomed with her new found freedom, and let me tell you, once she jumped ship to BBW (and the discount at the limited stores), she exploded.  I always find it unfortunate when ladies of a certain age don't realize that not all fashions are intended for those over the age of thirteen.  Just like not all fashions are meant for women over a size three.  Because they make it in your size doesn't mean you should buy it.  Trudy never had that problem.  She cast off her school teacher clothes and never looked back, but she never looked like anything but a million bucks.  She understood what looked good on her size two frame (bitch) and wore the hell out of anything that she put on.  She also had a pair of kick ass shoes for any occasion, and was the one who convinced me that a tall girl can wear a pair of heels.  I'd worn flats all my life-- I'd love her for that gift alone.
 
In the course of it, she also came to admit that she loved young bruthas.  I have tried typing that several different ways, but I cannot convey the relish she said that phrase with.  Trudy LOVED her young bruthas.  Maybe I should have capitalized young.   She tried dating a few in their forties, but it was the ones between nineteen and twenty three that made her sing while she worked.  Trudy was the living embodiment of all that is COUGAR.
 
It's the any woman past thirty part of this definition that has me a little twisted.  If thirty is the border, then I damn near cougared once or twice before I met the Honey.
I loved Trudy, but EEEEEEEWWW!   Once again, I am so glad to be out of that particular race.   I love you, honey! 

4 comments:

Mert said...

GAH, sore subject with me. My Mother went Cougar up up in this mug! It was after my step dad died... my mother went more insane. It turned out that one guy was younger than my older brother.

And my mother, who was mexican and darker than some of the black people in our neighborhood... who wouldn't let me date a really nice black guy who was a friend of my brother's, and who she knew very well... ended up dating a 23 yr old black guy when she was 46-7, just months after my step dad died... this guy was only 2 yrs older than me. GAG. There were others after him, all colors and denominations... all young and taking advantage of her money, spending all of my dad's life insurance on them and giving us nothing.

What a fruit cake.

crse said...

Whoo-hoo! You know? Maybe because Im closer to the forty than the thirty? But the thought of preying on twenty somethings is strangely enticing! Ah poor gill. Hed be so lucky to ditch me to a young stud.

Sayre said...

Hmph. Over 30???? Hell, that's when they finally stop being girls and turn into women. I'd think you'd have to be at least 50 before you can wear the Cougar suit (five more years, five more years!!!)

Factor 10 said...

See? I thought that Fifty was an appropriate age to then be a cougar. Shit, I had no clue until I was almost thirty. How about life begins at thirty? Or you finally start understanding things at thirty? I WASTED my twenties-and it's not that I didn't have a good time, but man, I WASTED 'em...