Lions and Tigers and ... Cougars?! Oh MY

“Hey la, hey la! My boyfriend’s back!”
-The Angels

Sometime last week I ventured to the gym for a routine workout. Well, it wasn’t really “routine” as I typically get to the gym around 7pm. On that particular day, I was heading in around 4. My boss had been letting us leave early all week, as there was mind-numbing construction noise that prevented us from working. At least, that was her excuse. Regardless, I headed in around 4, changed clothes, and hopped on the elliptical machine. Bummed that I was too early to catch re-runs of CSI on Spike TV, I flipped through the channels, landing on CNN. Wolf Blitzer was saying something incredibly profound when something caught the corner of my eye. There he was – my gym boyfriend.

I’ve gotten into the habit of calling cute guys, whom I admire from afar, my “boyfriends”. This is done, not in the delusional, psychopathic, self-pitying way… but in the fun, silly, self-entertaining way. I assure you, I am completely sane by society’s standards (unless you ask any of my real-life ex-boyfriends, and that’s another story). So this guy, “Jon”, works the front desk at my gym. He’s a student at a local College, and I assumed that he had left for the summer. I was surprised, to say the least, and pleasantly distracted from Wolf’s commentary about Obama versus McCain when I saw him. His hair had grown. He was locking, but his hair was still in the baby phase, with twists extending no longer than an inch all around. His smile was the same though.

After a tiring work-out, I walked back to the front desk to retrieve my ID and make small-talk with the boy. Yes, he was younger than I, but so what? A little flirting never hurt nobody… nor did occasional texting, or a phone call here and there. We had never gone out on an official “date” before. In fact, I’d never even seen him outside of the modern, glassy walls of the gym. So, yeah, we could catch up for a minute or two.

Fast forward (or rewind) a few days and I’m in another city, laughing and partying with yet another young (read: younger) man. In one city we were semi-dancing at a house party – plotting the quickest escape route. In another city, we were poking fun at each other in the midst of mutual friends catching up, joking, and laughing all around us. I’ll call this boy “Lewis”. He’s a tall guy with gorgeous skin, a broad smile, and a quaint southern accent. Though I only see him sporadically (when I’m in his city, or our mutual friends have decided to vacation together), the situation works well. I’m not in a place in my life where I’m ready to be “serious” about a guy. The truth of the matter is this: I’m already too serious about everything else! I’m serious about work, grad school, my career and my family. I can’t really afford to put men on the short list, just yet. So, I entertain the nice guys that come along and keep me smiling for short increments of time. Is it odd that they just so happen to be at least one year younger than I am?

There’s this ongoing joke among my friends about how our generation is full of “Cougars”. We’re women who prey on younger men. Geez. Is it my fault they are the ones who know how to act right? Men are allowed – encouraged, even – to take their time in “settling down”. They are expected to sew their oats, establish themselves financially, first, and then decide if a family is right for them. Well, in that same spirit, Carrie Bradshaw has practically re-invented the Women’s Rights Movement. Yes, birth control, Roe vs. Wade and women’s suffrage have been around for awhile now, but Carrie made it sexy to be in control, to make “manly” choices, and feel no sense of regret… and in PUMPS no less! No, I’m not saying this fictitious character deserves all the credit. Candace Bushnell and Darren Star don’t deserve it either. But, there’s something to be said for those who can expose hypocrisy in a vivid, witty, entertaining light...

So, I’m feeling liberated. I’m feeling like – hey, nobody’s getting married here; we’re just flirting/dancing/partying and enjoying life… and what not. Call me a Cougar, but this is what being young is about. My own mother has my dad beat by two years. Ooh. Maybe it’s genetic? Regardless, visionaries from Mary Wollstonecraft and Elizabeth Cady Stanton to Betty Friedan and even Miss Carrie Bradshaw (manolo blahniks in tow), have made it possible for young women like myself to fully enjoy life. So, that’s just what I plan to do.

Now, please excuse me, but I have to go. I have a t-shirt, mesh jogging shorts, and some old, gray New Balances waiting for me in a Puma bag, in my car…

Wednesday is a gym day.