Recently, on a business trip to New York, while also taking time to visit some of my favorite SoHo haunts, I over-heard a guy at Felixes telling his friend that he wasn’t looking for a “cougar” that evening. So, with my inquisitive mind working over-time and a tasteless mojito in hand, I invited myself into their conversation and asked them to please define a “cougar”. And, apparently, I wasn’t the only person who wanted the term defined because a woman who alleged she was twenty-nine, but looked more like a good forty-nine, turned around to tune in.
In any event, this 28-year-old investment banker, and dead ringer for Van Wilder, went on to describe a “cougar” as a woman who’s typically 30-years-old, and out on the prowl looking for some action. That’s right—30. Furthermore, according to Mr. Wilder, this type of woman is usually alone and having a few cocktails (martinis tend to be the drink of choice) while waiting to pounce on her unsuspecting, young prey. In addition, she’s typically attractive, well dressed, and looks like the only thing she’s in need of is companionship from a younger man. But, unfortunately, more often than not, these women take on the appearance of an over-weight, over-perfumed, and grandmotherly type who dresses in flashy clothing. I was speechless and not because I like flashy clothing.
Mr. Wilder, after grabbing the attention of everyone in earshot, with his "poignant" monologue, apparently derived from his sociology class dissertation, asked me my age. Without hesitation, and much confidence, I obliged and said, “I’m thirty-nine, soon to be forty in a few months.” One would have thought I gave away the secret formula to Tide because with much facial contortion, complete with bulging eyes, and the need to use his indoor voice, he screamed, “WOW!, I thought you were my age BUT you’re not only a “cougar”, you’re an old “cougar”!” That’s right-an old “cougar”.
Now, while I don't mind being called a fussy lion, a lioness (as I am a Leo), or occasionally a bitch, I was somewhat mortified when I was called a "cougar" … especially an old “cougar”. I mean one minute I’m being mistaken for a spry 28-year-old woman, and the next, I’m being called an old cat who drinks alone. Either way, I was ready to scratch his eyes out but opted to tame my fury by upgrading my watered-down mojito to a glass of champagne.
Honestly, how is it that an older (usually over 50), attractive man, who's out on the prowl, is called a “silver fox”, but change the gender, drop the age by ten years, and the “silver fox” is miraculously morphed into an “old cougar”? How does a single, "older" woman immediately become a broken down, lonely, old cat on the prowl?
It's been a long night ... it's time to drink my milk and retire to my lair.
