Rise of the Cougar

I went out with a friend of mine on Saturday night – let’s call her Abi. The aim was to have a couple of glasses of wine and a catch up natter before heading over to a bar / club to flex the old dancing skills. It started off happily enough at a trendy bar in Battersea, but went downhill shortly afterwards at a nearby pub. Abi was dressed in a gorgeous little dress, and I was a bit more conservative in my jeans and floaty top… on the whole I thought we were looking pretty good! We were soon approached by a group of young men dressed in various shades of pink. Mr Offender was wearing fuchsia hot pants, a purple-ish cowboy hat and a bright pink feather boa. He approached Abi with all the confidence of a freshly inebriated youth, and out of his mouth came the following two words: “Oooh, cougars!” There are no words to describe the abject mortification on Abi’s face. “EXCUSE ME! JUST HOW OLD DO YOU THINK WE ARE???” Mr Offender: “Err… 33 / 34?!” Mr Offender was therefore correct, for both of us are 33. But actually guessing a woman’s age correctly – and on the upper side of it… well that’s grounds for a bar fight isn’t it! I wasn’t nearly as offended as Abi (who is now seriously debating the pros and cons of being seeing in a bar after dark) but I do have to wonder if we have crossed some sort of line into mature ladyhood? It’s alright for Abi – she’s engaged! But jeez louise, I’m as single as they get! I will note 5 things:

* I have recently been asked for my ID twice in as many weeks, buying wine. Just saying..

* Mr Offender and his gang were not exactly babies either – I think they were on a stag?!

* At the following club I was asked for my number by a (cute, tall, owner-of-a-6-pack) 27 year old. Score!

* I am facing up to the sad reality that I dance waaaaay better in my head than reality would seem to indicate.

* My sister is trying to set me up with a 26 year old. Go the Cougars!

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