Believe it or not, I DO have some vague mental lineup concerning what I’d like to write on my blog. But this trumps, for the moment, everything I had in mind.
According to a widely-circulated, International, peer-reviewed journal*, I AM A COUGAR.
In the scientific journal article, for which they used a VERY limited sample, I think, and a rather vacuous title – “Cougars on the Prowl in Hollywood” – three of the four couples included a woman in her VERY EARLY THIRTIES. And they were pointing out age differences of four or five years as though they were comparing the Precambrian Eon versus the Mesozoic Era .
Don’t mistake me, I have the greatest affection and admiration for many a “Cougar.” So don’t get perturbed, Terry; you’re the best! It’s just that I thought you had to be at least FORTY to be a “cougar.”
I was looking forward (in a few short years, I grant you) to the initiation ceremony. There’s got to be some sort of rite of passage, yes? Doesn’t someone award you the “Golden Claw” and an expensive jar of eye cream? COME ON!
Grettir was expressing frustration about his recent experiences as he goes back to take some University classes as a parent and “non-traditional student.” Just so you know, Mr. Asmundarson, unfortunately you become a “non-traditional” student when you hit twenty-five. Therefore, I was a non-traditional student the entire time after I deigned to declare a major (or two).
As for the fact that you are number eight in a Google image search for the term “Middle-aged,” anyone who sees that picture will suddenly gain a WHOLE NEW PERSPECTIVE about being “middle-aged.” In fact, the aforementioned widely-circulated, International, peer-reviewed journal* would be proud to publish that picture in their “Guy Without His Shirt” section (subtitled “This month’s half-naked hunk”). Okay, they MIGHT blank out the kidney parts…
Sheesh – you go out of town for a month and a half or so and the world goes to HELL.
*So it’s Cosmo. And it isn’t even MINE. Moreover, Ashley was perfectly justified in purchasing it as trashy fodder for beach reading. It’s not like you want to get sand or salt water all over a nice copy of War and Peace or Finnegans Wake.