“How about a cub for the cougar?”

"Thank you very much young man, but you deserve a girl that still has her ovaries…"  

               In the EARLY 1980s, dating was easy:   I went with my girlfriends to Lady’s Night at our favorite club.  I made sure my hair was bigger than everybody else’s; thus ensuring my spot as the “Alpha” woman on the dance floor, and I had my pick of prospective dates.  I just hear Spandau Ballet right now as I reminisce the good old days…

               But that was then. Now my hair is smaller, my pelvis is wider from having two children, (who’ve both since graduated from college,) and yes that was also before the invention of the home computer and the Internet.

               Nowadays, how does a single “mature” lady meet appropriate men?  No seriously, I am asking the question, because I really don’t know….It’s not that easy I assure you.  I’ve tried a couple of different dating websites.  I paid for a membership at both Match.com and eHarmony.com.  One of them netted me one message from a guy who at the beginning of his message introduced himself as “Michael” and at the end of the message signed off as; “Trevor.”  Being the smartass that I am, I couldn’t help but reply back, “So which are you?  Michael or Trevor?  Or did you start the message as “Michael” and by the end your alternative personality “Trevor” showed up? 

               He responded that it was a “typo,” to which I said, “most people know what their name is…but a guy with your wit and cleverness is bound to meet the right girl! Good luck and God Bless! J

               After spending way too much money on the paid dating websites, I found a free one.  There were a lot more responses, but they were pretty colorful to say the least.  I went on many dates as a result of this site, but most of the dates were really bad dates---so bad really, that I was provoked into writing my on-line profile almost like a manifesto of standards to which all prospective men would be held if they wished to date me:

               “If you think I am the type of girl that is impressed by the fact that you are out on parole, out on your own recognizance; or have been sober for “six days!”   I am probably not girl for you.

               If you think I will be complimented by the term ‘cougar,’ you are very, very wrong and misguided indeed.

               If you think I will be impressed by you telling me that you are lying in bed thinking dirty thoughts about me; and you haven’t even met me, I am definitely not the girl for you… Seriously?  That’s actually worked for you???

               No, I will not meet you at 11:30 p.m. at some park and ride lot at the Brighton exit off of I-96…nevermind…I can’t even finish this one.

               If you think telling me that your job has transferred you to China and now we can only communicate via Skype, and the screen says you’re in Brownstown, Michigan, and you ask me to take off my top….trust me on this…I am not the girl for you.

               If you think that I will enjoy being chased down the street by a waitress and a bouncer because you tried to dine and dash with me as your date and I will find that exciting;  you might want to rethink that strategy;  I will not enjoy it.  (In fact I did NOT ENJOY THAT AT  ALL.)

               If you are the kind of guy that doesn’t get my snarky sense of humor and you want to kill everything you don’t understand….keep moving…I am not the girl for you.

               If you think taking me to the movies, then yelling at the top of your voice, “BIG dog!” every five or six minutes until the dude with the tattooed face sitting in front of us stands up, turns around and grabs you by the shirt, pulls you out of your seat and tells you he is going to stab you if you don’t shut up----trust me---I will just pretend I don’t know you and I will leave your ass there to take the beating you deserve…I hope you enjoyed that.

               Speaking of “cougar” and younger men. I did go out with a much, much younger man on a date just one time.  It was exhausting.  For one thing—he lied to me about his age. He told me he was 42; then when I met him at the designated public restaurant in a town where I knew everyone; he turned out to actually be 27….but I found that out, only after he tried telling me he was not actually 42 but 35 and I told him his peach-fuzz goatee and ponytail did not look like they were 35 years old. Only then did he confess to being 27.  Then for the rest of the 30 minutes we were together I felt like I was babysitting a puppy with ADHD. 

               “Stop that!”

               “Get that out of your mouth!”

               “Don’t touch that!”

               “Put that down!”

               “Behave!”

               Maybe I’m just getting old, but 27-year-old boys seem a lot younger to me now, than they did when I was a 23-year-old girl.

               I’m still hopeful though that there will be someone real, someone appropriate, someone genuine who is not completely broken, who has personal integrity and is capable of giving and accepting love.  I hold onto that thought as I cling to my lifeboat of hope and optimism.  Life just can’t be that cruel….right?