I’ve been having interesting feelings lately. At first they were as confusing as when I watched that sixth grade film strip about my changing body. Recently a friend said, "I think I’m attracted to a boy who works at J. Crew." I wanted to grab her arm and pull her behind the lockers. She had opened Pandora’s Box, literally. We have re-discovered boys. Not really boys, but young men in their 20’s. To some this might not be all that shocking. There’s a whole sector of women who enjoy ogling men. I’ve seen Real Sex on HBO where giant socked cocks are swung in women’s faces. They go crazy for that shit. It’s never been my thing. I used to pine for Tom Cruise, but boyfriend drank the Kool-Aid. Brad Pitt? My fantasy doesn’t include The United Colors of Benetton. Now I fancy a guy like Zac Efron or the hottie lifeguard at the beach every summer.
I know I’m not the only one feeling this way. "Cougar" has become an acceptable description for women. Technically I’m not a Cougar though. I’m 38 and happily married to the most amazing man. If you must label me, I’m a "Unicorn." Unicorns are harmless. They just hang out and frolic. A cougar will rip your fucking face off. I’m not really gonna sleep with the lifeguard but I want to mull it over.
There are advantages to being a Unicorn. While you can spot a Cougar a mile away, Unicorns hide in plain sight. We use our children as excuses to see "tween" movies and listen to The Jonai. Cougars and Unicorns can usually live in harmony. This summer however, a Cougar totally stepped over the line. What asshole brings a lifeguard a banana cream pie? "He don’t have no mini fridge up in there, bitch!" Maybe I do have a little Cougar in me.