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Okay, so I'm a friendly girl; always have been, always will be and it's always been something I counted as a strength for me.
It never led to any problems in my life and, in fact, has kept me skipping along on my happy little trail to Optimism Land where all things are good and, even if they're not, they will be shortly. Until recently. When this whole Cougar business came into play.
Now, I have a pretty darned good sense of humor, the only exception to this being bathroom humor. It just doesn't bring out the guffaws in me and we all know that humor is subjective, so that's no biggie.
The funniest moments in my life usually occur at my own expense, anyway, because I am one of those people who turns the very simplest of experiences into the very not so simplest of experiences. But this Cougar thing, that is not big fun.
My poor fellow baby boomer females and I are not reaping the rewards of keeping ourselves fit, realizing the (relative) dream of social equality, and retaining one or two of our marbles along the way.
What am I talking about? Whenever I chat up someone from the opposite sex who is younger than the cookie sheets I own, I am accused of being a Cougar. Yuck!
Witness a seemingly innocuous interaction I had in the presence of my daughter. Again, just to reiterate, I'm friendly. Always have been. Always will be. Well, maybe that last one is still up for debate.
I'm moseying on out of my car, getting ready to take advantage of one of our local retail outlet's “Buy 7, Get 1,” deals, when I espy a darling dog out with his master.
As I jog over and twitter about, asking the young man how old this precious puppy is, confirming the breed – it was a golden retriever – I note that my daughter is watching me with “that” look on her face.
I don't get it, but not to worry, I'm full-on in the throes of my doggie doting, being a pound puppy mom to the third power.
These kinds of interactions are instinctual for me, really. I thought the youth was pleasant and as I waved goodbye, telling him to have a nice day, my daughter hissed, “Oh, my God, mom, do you not get what you just did?”
I wasn't able to play that one off because, for the life of me, I couldn't see how, running over there energetically, talking to a young guy about his dog, all the while emoting with an animated, friendly tone … oh, hey, wait a minute.
It's one of those Cougar moments, a term I couldn't get right for quite a while, repeatedly saying “mountain lion,” until I employed the use of mnemonics.
I turned to her, a bit nauseous and said, “Don't tell me. That's how people pickup on other people, right?” She nodded affirmatively.
In my defense I have been out of circulation during a span of five presidential terms, but then I got irritated, and I've remained irritated every time I interact with other folks who, oftentimes, also happen to be males half my age.
This whole thing is making me a bit twitchy, so my clumsiness has amped up even more, rendering trips to my local fine purveyors of caffeinated beverages as not so much trips where I score caffeine, as outings where I display my cleaning prowess.
I find myself blurting things out in moments of unabated sharing making comments like, “We're just talking here,” or proclaiming loudly my status as a married woman with, “Boy, it's sure great being married … and ordering a skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latté.”
I must look as though I'm a real scaredy cat. Oh, well, at least I'm not a Cougar.
Diane Dean-Epps is a comedienne and writer. Contact her at www.diane deanepps.com.This column originally appeared on her blog: mswrite-now.blogspot.com.
It never led to any problems in my life and, in fact, has kept me skipping along on my happy little trail to Optimism Land where all things are good and, even if they're not, they will be shortly. Until recently. When this whole Cougar business came into play.
Now, I have a pretty darned good sense of humor, the only exception to this being bathroom humor. It just doesn't bring out the guffaws in me and we all know that humor is subjective, so that's no biggie.
The funniest moments in my life usually occur at my own expense, anyway, because I am one of those people who turns the very simplest of experiences into the very not so simplest of experiences. But this Cougar thing, that is not big fun.
My poor fellow baby boomer females and I are not reaping the rewards of keeping ourselves fit, realizing the (relative) dream of social equality, and retaining one or two of our marbles along the way.
What am I talking about? Whenever I chat up someone from the opposite sex who is younger than the cookie sheets I own, I am accused of being a Cougar. Yuck!
Witness a seemingly innocuous interaction I had in the presence of my daughter. Again, just to reiterate, I'm friendly. Always have been. Always will be. Well, maybe that last one is still up for debate.
I'm moseying on out of my car, getting ready to take advantage of one of our local retail outlet's “Buy 7, Get 1,” deals, when I espy a darling dog out with his master.
As I jog over and twitter about, asking the young man how old this precious puppy is, confirming the breed – it was a golden retriever – I note that my daughter is watching me with “that” look on her face.
I don't get it, but not to worry, I'm full-on in the throes of my doggie doting, being a pound puppy mom to the third power.
These kinds of interactions are instinctual for me, really. I thought the youth was pleasant and as I waved goodbye, telling him to have a nice day, my daughter hissed, “Oh, my God, mom, do you not get what you just did?”
I wasn't able to play that one off because, for the life of me, I couldn't see how, running over there energetically, talking to a young guy about his dog, all the while emoting with an animated, friendly tone … oh, hey, wait a minute.
It's one of those Cougar moments, a term I couldn't get right for quite a while, repeatedly saying “mountain lion,” until I employed the use of mnemonics.
I turned to her, a bit nauseous and said, “Don't tell me. That's how people pickup on other people, right?” She nodded affirmatively.
In my defense I have been out of circulation during a span of five presidential terms, but then I got irritated, and I've remained irritated every time I interact with other folks who, oftentimes, also happen to be males half my age.
This whole thing is making me a bit twitchy, so my clumsiness has amped up even more, rendering trips to my local fine purveyors of caffeinated beverages as not so much trips where I score caffeine, as outings where I display my cleaning prowess.
I find myself blurting things out in moments of unabated sharing making comments like, “We're just talking here,” or proclaiming loudly my status as a married woman with, “Boy, it's sure great being married … and ordering a skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latté.”
I must look as though I'm a real scaredy cat. Oh, well, at least I'm not a Cougar.
Diane Dean-Epps is a comedienne and writer. Contact her at www.diane deanepps.com.This column originally appeared on her blog: mswrite-now.blogspot.com.
