Tammie Thursday: I Am Just Not Cougar Material

Cougars…
I’ve seen them on TV.
They really seem to be good at it and picking up younger men seems effortless.
They look fantastic (or plastic whichever you prefer to call it) and they enjoy their boy-toys with wild abandon.

But as for me,I am a middle-aged woman. I enjoy my sleep. Ten in the evening is beddy-bye time.I’m happily snoring and drooling my way through dream land when they’re just beginning to prowl.

I am the first to admit that I couldn’t hack the whole night-life thing. Going out every night would land me in the ICU. And I’m allergic to gaudy clothing and tight, sparkly dresses that allow my ass to hang out. And stiletto heels? Don’t even get me started on the heels. The last time I wore stiletto heels, I tripped and almost impaled one of the shoes in some guys jugular. It’s not the best way to pick up a dude, ok?

And then there is the whole flirting thing. I can flirt but it seems like an awful lot of effort. I guess twenty plus years of marriage have made me lazy.
Yeah I could talk and make jokes. I can be quite interesting when I’m medicated. Plus I am a good listener, and people like to be listened to. But I’ve grown impatient in my old age and I’d just want to get everything out of the way all at once.
I’d want to show him my stretch marks, fart on him and get out the duct tape for a “wee bit of a cuddle”.
I don’t think I’d be capable of “easing” into a relationship. It would be more like,”This is the real me. I will not be pretending I am someone else in order to make you like me. I love to watch sports and I think romance novels make great firewood. I drink beer, I belch, I fart and I don’t care about shopping or jewelry or any of that other girl crap. I am comfortable with you taking a shower while I’m taking a power dump…IN THE SAME BATHROOM.I have a crude sense of humor and when we argue, I refuse to talk it TO DEATH. We disagreed. It’s done. Move on. I am always right when it comes to money and there had better always be coffee in the house. That’s all you need to know.”

I doubt that kind of straightforwardness would impress anyone, let alone a younger man. And honestly I could never settle for less. I’m set in my ways.

Getting all sexified up to catch a man (especially a younger one)would also be a problem for me. The days of wearing a shirt so tight that my nipples would be announcing my arrival before I had even arrived…are gone. Now, in order to get some guy to notice my nipples were winking at him, I’d literally have to knock the poor son-of-a-bitch on the floor and straddle him, leaning back slightly, in order to achieve the same effect. Either that or I could walk around like I was ready to walk beneath a limbo stick. Then they’d be looking straight ahead but since they can’t see where I’m going, who knows where I’d end up?

Then there is the belly issue. It’s not like I’m overly sensitive about my belly. I mean, yeah, even the young hotties have a few stretch marks but do they have a puppy gut?
My puppy gut flops over the top of tight jeans, slyly escapes from beneath t-shirts and lays in a heap next to me while I’m lying on my side trying to make the “I’m sexy” pose for my man.
Still not sure what a “puppy gut” is? Picture a puppy attaching itself to your lower belly and then all of it’s bones disintegrating.
Yeah…I figured that’d do it for you.
So…boob flop, puppy gut, not to mention the arm flab and the back fat and butt cave that eats clothing when you walk…it’s all special.
We won’t even discuss the disappearing and reappearing camel toe, Then there is the thighs that make sparks whenever they rub together. I once had to mosey my way through a small town museum because I was wearing polyester pants. There was no sprinkler system and I was terrified of setting the place on fire. I think they thought I’d shit my pants because I was walking like I had a bale of hay between my legs,but you know, whatever it takes to preserve history.

Getting back to the whole wooing of the dude stuff…I enjoy dancing. In fact I dance at home during the day when I’m alone and can do it unmolested. I would enjoy dancing with some hot young stud, It’d be fun. But then, ten minutes later when we were having a drink by the bar, he’d notice that parts of me were still jiggling. Unless he was a physics major I doubt he’d be impressed by all the momentum and rotation and laws of gravity and stuff. That might not be attractive to him unless he had a Jello fetish or something.

I’m really not bitching about my lack of cougar attributes. I mean, I like to eat. I love beer and I’ve squirted four kids out of my baby-gun. Things like that are bound to do a few things to a woman’s body.

And to be honest, if anything ever happened to my one and only true love,Mr.Man, I’d probably remain single.
He doesn’t care that I’m no cougar and he still thinks I’m the cat’s meow, in spite of my imperfections.
Finding a new guy who could accept me the way I am just doesn’t seem like a reality. And who could ever live up to Mr.Man???

While the cougars are out sharpening their claws on younger men, I’ll be watching the Red Sox, drinking beer and farting (cause farts are funny)…It may not seem like I’m living the dream but I am and it’s all good…

I’m just not cougar material…I’m just a Tammie and that’s the way I like it.