cougar-vixenville

                                                                                     
Man-Belly

It’s funny.  Every time I look at a magazine I’m bombarded with images of impossibly beautiful women.  This is nothing new.  Heck, Oprah has devoted entire segments to this topic.  How women are constantly met with the challenge to be incredible.  Beautiful.  Voluptuous. Desirable.  And, on top of all that, intelligent and productive.  I recently picked up a magazine that is meant for a more mature female audience…you know…over forty.  I was excited when I heard that such a magazine existed and wasn’t it about time?  So, I looked for the title on the magazine rack and found, on it’s cover, a gorgeous woman crawling across the bed like a hungry lioness.  A sultry vixen on the prowl.  Tip-off #1 that this may not be the magazine that so many of us over forty types were hoping for.  Especially since this temptress didn’t look a day over thirty.  Trying to remain optimistic, I leafed through the pages learning about how I could remain relevant to my adult children, have multiple orgasms, what my man really wants in the bedroom and the definition of a cougar. Well, as it turns out, based on the facts presented in this magazine, there is no chance that my man will ever be happy in the bedroom if we must rely upon said magazine’s suggestions  and if I put on smoky eyeshadow and hip-hugging jeans, I too could be considered a cougar. Good Lord.  Hence the Lioness on the cover…I guess she was actually supposed to be a cougar.  At any rate, it’s challenging for a gal crossing over into that “woman of a certain age” demographic. But, it’s all this pressure for women to be perfect that makes me wonder about the men…of a certain age.  Is it me or do the men of a similar age seem completely unaffected by any such pressure?  I was having lunch a few weeks ago at a nearby club and noticed the husband of one of my neighbors.  My neighbor is attractive and no doubt spends a big part of her day exercising and dong the all the other things necessary to maintain this up-to-the-minute, cougar-like appearance.  Her husband…not so much.  What’s funny is that to see him strut around you’d think he owned the place.  In his mind he was a God, a gift to women.  And, he was…fat.  Yep.  Big, fat belly hanging over his belt.  In that moment when I saw him my mind immediately went back to the hungry Lioness, er uh, cougar on the magazine cover.  I imagined, in her place, my neighbor’s husband and his big, fat belly.  How would we feel about that on the magazine cover?  I suppose we’d get a good laugh out of it, but in real life we accept it…the fat man-belly.  An blatant double standard!  Why are we ok with this?  Why are women expected to be “multiple orgasm prowling cougar vixens” but the counterpart to these women aren’t expected to have physical attributes any greater than that of the Michelin Tire Man?   Is it because the man-belly is a sign of success?  After all, some of these fellas crow as if to say “I’m very important and therefore entitled to eat and drink everything in sight!”  Women: 3 hours per day at the gym, a sensible starvation plan and a series of torturous waxing and plucking procedures 7 days per week just to maintain the cougar-vixen thing.  Men: A bike ride once a month with their buddies, power lunches of Guinness and potato skins and big bowls of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey before bed.  Sexy.  So, where do we go with all this?  Nowhere, really.   Just an observation.   Those with the fat man-belly could up their game and loose the Dunlap.   Another super fun idea would be the man-belly version of the same magazine.  Instead of “multiple orgasm prowling cougar-vixen” on the cover it would be “slovenly bloated hunka burnin’ love machine” crawling across the bed…no doubt reaching for a bowl of Ben & Jerry’s.  I’ll leave the articles in this magazine to your imagination.  Ok, I can’t resist just one…”Ultimate BBQ Ribs…too messy for the bedroom but blow her mind at the next tailgate party.” Meeeow!  Seriously, wouldn’t that be funny??
Mrs. Robinson

Mrs. Robnson, you're trying to seduce me, aren't you?
There’s a song I can’t get out of head...”The Old Gray Mare Just Ain’t What She Used To Be.”  I’m not all that old but, facts are facts and the fact is that I really aint what I used to be.  You couldn’t really call me ancient.  Let’s just say that at this point I’ve got a lot of perspective.  I admit that the morning when I spotted the dreaded first signs of aging in my bathroom mirror I thought that maybe my goof-ball children played some sort of cruel “Draw Wrinkles On Mom’s Neck” prank.  Needless to say, they didn’t wash off and that was my introduction to the world of crepe paper skin.  At first, I considered stabbing myself in the temple with a screwdriver but after a few moments of careful consideration determined that to be a titch too dramatic.  So, I did what most women in this situation do which is to ignore the fact that it’s 8:15 in the morning and made myself a Gin and Tonic.  Don’t judge.  This was just as traumatic as discovering that your parents really did like your brother better or that your boyfriend from college was now a woman.  Heavy stuff.  Like all sensible women, I allowed myself the one drink, went through all the appropriate stages: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance and then began my search for the fountain of youth potion.  The Elixir of Egypt.  The Treasure of the Thailand.  The Secret of Sweden.  The Arrogance of France..only the French could get away with this name for a facial cream.  After about $4,000 in lotions and oils and another $3,000 in consultations with the most highly recommended Dermatologists in the country it became abundantly clear that I’d better get to the “acceptance” portion of this program.  That’s right.  The crepe paper skin was here to stay.  Another Gin &Tonic, please.  And there it was.  I was no longer youngSo, fast forward  a few years and the shock of no longer being the most beautiful creature on the planet finally subsiding, I began to do what I always do.  Observe.  And after that, finding the humor.  As it turns out, I didn’t have to look far. Seems I’m not the first female to dial 911 upon discovering crow’s feet and how we deal with it can really be entertaining.  A couple of my favorites:
1)      We start shopping in the twenty-something section for our jeans.  Two words here.  Muffin Top.  Sorry ladies, I don’t care how fit you may think you are.  The only people who can pull off this hip-hugging look is an underage, under fed supermodel.  Period.  That little buldgy thing squeezing over the top of your pants is a disgrace and, in my opinion, a punishable offense.
2)      We start flirting with our children’s friends.  Good Lord.  This may be the worst offense of all.  As if to somehow confirm that we are still attractive we revert back to our adolescent behavior and flirt with anyone under 40.  It is especially disturbing when we start describing teenage boys as “hot.” Ladies, if you’re still doing this, please stop.  This isn’t “The Graduate” and you are not Ann Bancroft.    
3)      Someone told us it was o.k. to show up at social events with all of our crepe papery skin showing.  Sexy is good but back-fat and saggy, exposed lady bits…not so much. This has nothing to do with size.  Keep in mind that Jane Russell and Marilyn Monroe worked a size 14 like nobody’s business.  Bottom line..if it’s not firm, cover it up. 
4)      We get a little “work” done. If the day comes when you meet your friend for lunch and she doesn’t immediately recognize you, you’ve gone too far.  A little something..why not?  But when you look more like the Joker than your former self and your neighbor’s grandchildren run away screaming when they see you, it’s too much.
 I saw a woman at the pool the other day, well beyond the smokin’ hot sex-kitten stage and even a little past sultry cougar.  She didn’t appear to have had any “work” done, obvious signs of age creeping in.  Still, she was…beautiful.  Happy, relaxed and confident.  A woman perfectly at ease with her age.  I don’t know what she was drinking as she lounged poolside but….I suspect a Gin & Tonic.