Wednesday 1 October 2014


My husband is younger than I am. If we were tapping into the zeitgeist I suppose that makes me a cougar, as they have deemed it – cause god knows they need a term for everything these days (Who named Isis anyway, that's what I'd like to know? I mean, is there a think tank somewhere that comes up with super 'fearful' names for terrorist organisations that have not come on the radar yet? Yeah, yeah, Isis…that sounds so cold and scary, I love it!). So what does being a cougar mean exactly?  I’m a bloodthirsty wild animal that hunts down the small and defenseless? I have killer eyes, and run up to 80km? [As I'm only up to an 8 1/2 minute mile on a good day, that's clearly not the case]. I suppose it’s a bit better than the male equivalent: cradle robber, lechers…pervert? 

Maybe cougar doesn’t sound so bad actually.

To be honest, whilst I get the allure of others that say with an air of mystery, “Wow, you went younger good for you!” – like I won first prize at the local fair - I can’t help but think, 'seriously, is it that big of a deal?' It certainly has not been for centuries upon centuries when we’re speaking of men and their choices. Men seem to get to a certain age when the grim reaper is in smelling distance, and suddenly take leave of all their senses. “So, she’s 22, and has no idea who the president is, but she’s a really sweet girl and looks great in heels.” Most of their targets don’t even get the moniker of ‘woman.’ And it does not seem to matter if these chosen ones can add (I’m talking basic math here), relate, or contribute to a conversation in any way. She looks the part and that’s good enough.

On the contrary, I’m proud to say that I chose my partner with some sort of intellectual deduction in place (fine, he is also dead hot but chemistry is very important). We have a lot in common, he’s mature (for a man anyway), well adjusted, and we both decided that if we had similar life goals, who cares about age. Now, don’t get me wrong, there is such a thing as too young – [ahem, Madonna. Seriously. All that does is make you look like you have a hot Brazilian home nurse]. If your potential partner is still wanting to go to clubs with foam, drinks beer like it’s a race to the finish, and vomits more than three times a year (and not due to illness or food poisoning), you’ve got a problem. 

Then again, there are plenty of women out there that are simply trying a younger model on for size and taking it for a spin to see how it compares. And I say HELL yes to that; if it’s just a question of wanting a little youth contagion, then I’m all for it. As we all know, men do it ALL the time. And women are aging better, looking better, and might as well flaunt their sexual power with pride – [post 40’s have been hiding in demure baggy matron clothing and ‘no I shouldn't’ attitudes for far too long]. Plus, apparently according to the whole sexual peak argument, women in there 30’s should be trolling for younger men purely to match their abilities, so to speak. And of course men die younger (you do; look it up). So one day, even though I may be a sack of wrinkles in a wheelchair, I’ll be able to wheel up in style to my partner’s funeral without lifting a limb. 

See, we women are simply being pragmatic; we’re always thinking.

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