Last Saturday night I was in a club in NYC with some friends. I hit the dance floor with one of them and seconds later I felt another hand grab mine. I turned and realized the hand belonged to a good looking guy. We started to dance, he asked my name and shortly thereafter my age. I’m never ashamed about my age, but by the same token don’t feel it’s everyone’s business so I didn’t tell. He guessed 22, I laughed and said, “Sure, we’ll go with that.” I asked him his, he said 21. By the time we went our own way, I was 33 (his final guess) and he 28.
Back in Chicago and we’re keeping in touch because well…why not?
In the last ten years I have dated only two men that are older than me. One older by two months, the other by about a year. I don’t know why but older men and men my age rarely show an interest in me. When I was 34 I dated a 22 year old. Yet with all of that history I do not consider myself a cougar and in fact, despise the term.
I think it’s insulting to give women of a certain age a moniker whose real meaning is “a capable stalk-and-ambush, the cougar pursues a wide variety of prey” implying that the younger men we date are prey and not necessarily willing participants in the game.
But as I research this subject so I can stand on my soapbox shouting to the world about the ridiculousness of the term, I found this video and can’t help but think that maybe we’ve done this to ourselves.