Finding Forty, Day 264; Cougar

I'm laughing as I begin this entry, which can only be a good thing for me.   So rarely has humor found it's darling and beloved place in my words this past year, I welcome tonight's blog wholeheartedly.

I'm cracking myself up because of the situation I find myself in recently.   Here is my story and I'm sticking to it.

One of my best friends is a co-worker and is divorced.   Although I am not officially divorced, my marriage has been over for a while as most of you know.

Two weeks ago, my friend, F, called to see if I wanted to meet her for a drink at local restaurant/bar.   It had been a long, hard week, and I thought a glass of wine sounded great.   We met at the bar and before long, it was swarming with men.  We had fun dancing and flirting, but nothing more.   It was a work night for goodness sakes!

Fast forward to last Thursday night and we again met for dinner, great conversation, and drinks.   We started at a different place, one that was more sports bar oriented.  I won't lie.   We dress cute when we go out together and make a formidable pair of MILF's.  We are 40 and 41, each have three kids, and still look pretty darn good.   I mean, we aren't sure to get hit on or 'picked up' every time we go out, but we rarely have no bites.

This particular night, a beefy guy in a tight t-shirt was checking her out.   It's so obvious when a man is interested.   If you miss their glance your way the first time, you are sure to notice it one of the next 20 or so repeats.   She sort of likes that Ed Hardy style, so it was amusing.

We also had a pudgy,  high-tech worker in Dockers and a button up shirt who could hardly contain himself.   We politely smiled, but gave no welcoming looks.

Then, as we were finishing our nachos and beer, a group of young guys walked in and as they passed us, one visibly checked me out.

I tend to find F prettier than me and am fine with her getting more attention, but this was interesting.  She immediately said, "Oh, he likes you."

I just laughed because as I glanced at him, he looked like a kid.

A while later, I saw him walking to our table and he bee-lined right for me.    He told me he and his friends were leaving but that he wanted to introduce himself.  He said I was beautiful and asked where I'd be later.   I threw out a few places and smiled as he walked off.

Later, F and I joked about how we'd never have been able to pick him up anyway because neither one of us had our car seats with us.

We laughed a bit more, went to get my sister and her friends who were in town on business, and took them to the restaurant/bar we'd been to the week before.

Lo and behold, when I walked in, I immediately spotted the guy from the bar earlier in the night.   He beamed and me and said, "I KNEW IT!  I knew you'd be here.   My friends wanted to go home and I made them come here because you said you'd be here."

I won't lie.

He's cute.   He's young.   He's fit.  

My mind raced.  Surely he's drunk and looking at me through beer goggles?   There must be something really, horribly, desperately wrong with him.  

I'm not ugly, but I'm not THAT great.  Really.

He chatted me up a bit, with me giggling like a school girl and blushing.   My sister kept saying how much he looked like my twin nephews who are 19 (eww), but in all honesty, he really does.

I finally had to ask how old he was, fully expecting to hear him say 20.   When he said he was 28, I wasn't sure if I felt relief or queasiness.

It finally came time to tell him my age and as you all know, I deal in being as upfront as possible.

"Forty" I answered sheepishly.

His eyes popped wide open and he said, "No way!   How old are you REALLY?"

Well, suffice to say, he hasn't had a problem with my age.

We had our first date this morning (yes, it was a breakfast date) and are having another one tomorrow.

I haven't dated many 28 year olds, oh wait, I haven't dated any, but he seems really genuine and nice.  He hasn't made any sexual moves on me and is content to talk to me and tell me how great I am.

I have smiled and laughed all day long.

Sometimes I think my life couldn't be any more ridiculous if I actually tried for it to be.

Just before starting this blog, I googled "cougars" to see if I truly fit the description.   In some ways, yes. I am 40, almost 41, while he is only 28.   That 12 year age difference puts us pretty darn close to Ashton and Demi.  

There is actually a website, www.dateacougar.com, where people can go to willingly and readily and hopefully enter into such relationships.   The women call the men "cubs"!

When I think about the fact that he was born in 1982, I just laugh.    What in the world would he want with a woman like me?

He constantly tells me I am beautiful, so I plan to let him discover my "National Geographic" breasts (see one of my early blogs) and my "Okavango river delta" stretch marks on my belly all on his own.  No point in giving away all my secrets.

Actually, with all of these African savanna references, maybe I am a cougar after all?

For now, I plan to just go with the flow and enjoy this smile that has crept upon this middle aged face of mine.

I better sign off.  I have a breakfast date to prepare for.