PlazaJen: Passion Knit

So, I'm turning 40 soon. As in, within a couple of weeks. One of my friends was sending out a happy hour email, and I got served an ad in Google, apparently because "40" and "birthday" were in the same message. What was that small text ad?

"Cougar Bars"

What did I think when I saw it? Some sort of granola energy chew. Followed immediately by "Hrm, cougars IN bars?" And wondered how a meat bar really worked and would it be good for sack lunches? Then the rest of the text battered through my fogbanks: "Find Local Cougar Bars Near You. 100% Free. Join Now!" Yet still, I was trying to figure out if this was like, say, a Dachshund enthusiasts group. But the web address finally dismissed every doubt or nuance of confusion: date a cougar, dot com.
Holy carp! Holy crap! I don't want to date a cougar! I don't want to BE a cougar! I am NOT a cougar! WTF?!

Aging is great for all the wisdom and perspective but it totally sucks for advertising and hearing about all the things "wrong" with you. I'm supposed to buy all these creams and collagen-enhanced lotions for my skin. (I'm sure the collagen comes from cougars!) I'm supposed to start taking soy. (Comes from pumas, I hear.) Eventually I will burst into flames on an irregular basis. Meanwhile, men just age gracefully and become more... distinguished. Nobody ever calls them "an iguana" if they parade a young hottie on their arm. Matter of fact, I think we should start the trend right now. If women over a certain age are dating younger men, and society insists on calling them "cougars" (I mean, can't you just see the wildcat tearing out the frat boy's throat?) - well, I say we start the Iguana Movement as our own counterpoint.

Jack Nicholson, I'm looking right at you, my friend.

Labels: Musings