Excuse me, miss. Do you cougar?

Seems to me many a 30 plus vixen proudly bears the moniker "cougar" these days. Don't they realize the veiled sexism? Have our mothers and grandmothers burned their bras in vain? Do we have to be chicks and birds and broads and betties and bimbos and boxes? And now cougars, the term du jour? I'd rather be called middle-aged! But if you wanna have it, wild cat, check out the California Cougar Convention in Los Angeles this Friday. Kittens forever! Meow!

Cougars

I've been thinking about cougars. That's because I read my friend JT's blog entry about going out in Hollywood with her co-workers, to a bar with lots of cougars pouncing on their fresh 20-something souls. I don't think I've ever thought of women along those lines before. When I was in my 20s and went to bars, of course, there'd be "girls" in their 30s, and I did think they were sort of pathetic, especially the ones that looked really shriveled up and pruney and dressed like hookers, but I never applied the term cougar. I thought vaguely of Mrs. Robinson and maybe women in their 50s. Cougars, if they existed, were far removed from everyday life. But now all of a sudden they are everywhere and feminism has been kicked in the gut again.