I had a conversation with three co-workers, all in their 50s, about terms like "cougar" and "puma." Peter said his wife was six months older than he was, and that they had married at 40. He had not heard of the term "puma" as a distinction of a class of "older woman--but not by as much as a cougar." Having been both, I knew.
Amy nodded viciously as I spoke of how fulfilling it was to meet like-minded men who were younger than I was--the first one was 6 months younger, and then I went younger and younger as the years went on (3, 6, and 9 years)--who were somehow raised in more progressive mindsets than my same-aged male peers.
I found that the way my brain operated naturally fit better with younger men. It was thrilling.
"But what about the maturity? Aren't guys not really men until they are 40?" Peter inquired.
"I suppose that's why I'm with a 40-year-old now," I quipped. "But I scratched that itch."
"Won't you miss it?" Amy wondered.
"Nothing will ever take away the kind of affirmation I gained when with those younger men," I realized aloud. "Plus, my 40-year-old also doesn't quite seem to fit with his generation, so that makes two of us."
It was Friday afternoon at 4 pm. We had let down our guards and were finishing paperwork for the week.
"This was almost like a Happy Hour conversation," I noted, as we all resumed our work.
"Yes it was!" exclaimed Peter. "And thanks for chatting. Have you ever thought about starting a blog?"
And that, dear reader, was confirmation for Lady Crindeyes to keep writing her posts, silly as they might seem.
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