Well-heeled, well-preserved, and ready to play, the club-crawling "cougar" has become a cultural icon. One need only survey such fertile habitats as Barcelona, Skye, Eli's, Pane e Vino, et. al. to know the local cougar population is thriving. Good news for both predator and prey.
Part of me gets it, and I think you know what part. MILF. GILF. Absolutely. Deal me in. After all, many of these 40-to-60-somethings boast stunning aftermarket retro-fits (let me rub a little ointment on your "Down Under" surgery scar, babe). Virtually dimple-free body work? Check. State-of-the-art highbeams? Check. Disabled biological clock and long-term commitment hard-wiring? Can I drive her home today?
Still, there's a fine line. One more facelift, and some of these ladies will be wearing their pubic hair as goatees. And skinny jeans drapped over skin and bones simply reminds me of what a wise man once said: "Sex with women who won't eat is like riding a ten-speed over railroad tracks."
I bring all this up as a consequence of last Saturday's dinner service, when fellow waiter "Franz" and I were ruminating on this very topic. "Check out those two, dude." Franz poked me in the arm, pointing over to a corner of the bar. "What do you call cougars that old?"
"Taxidermy." -- Anonymous
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Anonymous has seen it all in 25 years of waiting tables and tending bar at some of the Valley's most beloved restaurants.