Chapter Twenty Five; The Cougar Thing

The first time I heard the term "cougar" was back in my Dating Land days over dinner with an older and wiser successfully single girlfriend. I had just confessed to her how I had stumbled into a pseudo dating pothole on the Divorce Land highway and that my DLTC (Dating Land Traveling Companion) was slightly younger than me. Okay, maybe more than slightly. Oh fine, he was in second grade the year I graduated from high school. Actually, it might have been first . . .

“Ooooh, that makes you a cougar,” she purred over the top of her chardonnay.

“A wha?”

“A cougar. You know, Ashton/Demi?”

“There is a term for this ridiculous situation?” I was mortified. "I thought I was just having some kind of momentary isolated crisis."

When behavioral decisions have been assigned animal terminology isn't that evidence enough to rethink? Cougar. It sounded so primal. As if I wasn't second guessing this May/December deal already now I am a pop culture punch line? Indulging in the kind of lifetstyle trend that inspires reality television?

She encouraged me to check the calendar. It is 2008 and we women have arrived. It is acceptable to date younger men. Not only that, my ability to attract a man who moved from a tricycle to a two wheeler the same year I learned to drive is a badge of honor. I should be proud.

I assured her I was not some panting feline in heat. I was dating DLTC because I found him to be very smart, extremely funny, insanely ambitious and goal oriented. The birthday was something I was just trying to ignore.

My non-shallow declaration was quickly met with sly smirking and entertained eyebrow cocking from across the table.

“What?” I innocently inquired.

Her smirk spread and her eyebrow ascended into her hairline.

“Oh, FINE.” I nonchalantly conceded, “I admit. He’s also very cute.”

Her smirk morphed into a shit ass grin and her eyebrow dissappeared from her face. I think it moved to the back of her head.

“Alright! Alright! He’s so hot when he comes to my house I have to turn on the air conditioning. Happy?!?” (Which is saying a lot considering this conversation took place in December and I believe the temperature outside was around minus five degrees.)

Her eyebrow returned to her forehead as she high fived me from across the table.

I'd say she was pretty happy.

That night I Googled "cougar" to make sure I had not indeed lost my 35-year-old mind.

It turns out Madonna’s husband is 11 years her junior and, who knew, but the current reigning queen of the cougars is . . . Katie Couric? The epitome of brains and class? Wow. Her boyfriend wasn’t even BORN when she graduated from high school. And according to the Guinness Book of World Records some 34 year old man from Indonesia married a 101 year old woman just last year.

Whoa. I want the number of that woman’s plastic surgeon. Rock on granny!

My cyber cougar sleuthing was helping. I mean really, the age difference between me and DLTC was not that bad, I was certainly uncovering worse. Not to mention I was in the company of some strong and smart women who had stolen the contents of a cradle or two themselves.

I decided not to worry another second about it. After all, the last two years of my marriage were sad, tragic and frustrating. I figured if the worst thing I have to worry about at this stage in the game is whether or not my date will follow my uncanny knack for quoting Ferris Buehler’s Day off ("Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.") then my life has definitely taken a turn for the better.

Bring on the cat nip. And turn the air conditioning on high.

This cougar is on the prowl.