I am cougarbait. Let's be frank about this.
I'm not gloating -- certainly not -- and I'm not talking about dangerous felines. I'm not actually sure I've ever seen a cougar. But I have been acquainted with a variety of cougars. You get me?
I knew you did. I'm not sure what property of my being lends me to cougary advances. I should note that I have never been successfully cougared. As a male, there is something certainly exotic about the prospect, but not enough to underwrite my better judgment.
Young women are used to guys of all ages buying them liquor. This is not only common, but almost socially expected, because young ladies are treated as flowers, bars as gardens, and men as honey bees or some other creature interested in flowers. I know, that's a bad analogy. I'm only saying there's an established order to it. It's not right, it's actually kind of pathetic, but it's truth. I am not an active participant in this process, although I am not a detractor. I'm getting on in my years, so meeting a girl that interests me, even in a bar, even just as a friend, is considered good fortune.
I digress.
The point being that I have been given free alcohol by a number of women over the past two years alone. Their cumulative age is probably around 300. Feel free to divide that number as many times as you see fit to attain a workable average age. The occurrence perplexes me, and I am taken aback in awe and wonder at myself. Only one or two of these women have made it obvious that they aim to hunt, and I am the prey. One even happened to make mention of it in front of my male friends.
When out with a group of my female friends a few months ago, I was assured by many of them that I am indeed cougarbait. Their excitement in labeling me this way was alarming, as if they had discovered a box of free kittens wearing red bowties. I did not necessarily hide my disappointment or shame -- I would much rather appeal to women my own age, even if I chose not to pursue those women either.
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