A few nights back, I was having a fat chat with my honey about…eish, well everything and nothing really, when I suddenly piped up, “Babe, am I a cougar?”.
This question had him in stitches, STITCHES!
After realising I was actually being serious he pointed out that cougar is not really a term I want to be calling myself in the not so distant future because, well, its not very nice, secondly it really applies to um, thirsty married women or divorcees between 30’s – 50’s (think Stifler’s mum) and, is supposedly more a cradle-snatcher than a cougar (haha, I could be splitting hairs here).
My honey happily pointed out that he was quite happy I had said cradle-snatching tendencies otherwise we wouldn’t have got back together in the first place (umm, before all your imaginations start running amuck, I will have you all know he’s only a few months younger than me, before you all start picturing me trawling the local all-boys prep schools for bait, lol).
Now, I would be lying through my teeth if I said that my lovely honey is an isolated incidence. You see, what started out as a few isolated cradle-snatching occurrences in varsity, became a bit of a pattern really. My friends were pretty perplexed as to my newfound interest in “younger men”…so was I really, it wasn’t (as I have constantly pointed out) a conscious decision…it just sorta, happened.
I was constantly teased & the butt of many a joke, seriously though, you’d think I was picking up children when in fact these were guys no more than two years younger than me.
Then came the Demi Moore & Ashton Kutcher saga, and more recently Mariah Carey and Nick Cannon and all of a sudden cradle snatching is de rigueur and Hollywood is overrun with prowling cougars. This movement has now spilled over into normal society, judging by what I saw after this weekend’s partying.
What a relief, with social cougar-apartheid a thing of the past, there will be less teasing and eyebrow raising… well I hope so anyway, lol.