The big 37, or 73, not sure which. Depends on the day really. Having seen Betty White on Saturday Night Live, I have realised that even old chicks can be hip and happening, so I am equally comfortable with 73. Well for today anyway, don't ask me tomorrow as I may be less relaxed about the whole aging thing and be forced to throttle you. I have moved from my mid-thirties to the land of possibilities that is my late-thirties. Yep, Alyssa Milano, Cameron Diaz and me, 37 is hot! (Shut up! It's my birthday and I can be as bedazzelingly delusional I want to be).
I realised the universe was sending me a hint when MaryMac over at Pajamas & Coffee put up a post about Cougar Crushes on my big day. Yep, that's right, I can now be classed as a Cougar. I believe I get some sort of official card in the mail, plus a Team Cougar jacket, and learn the secret butt-grabbing handshake. I'm pretty sure it's like the Stonecutters, but with better shoes, more cocktails and discount botox vouchers.
(All hail the Queen, Anne Bancroft, The Graduate, 1967)
Now I should clarify that I have no intention of becoming Mrs Robinson per se (especially on the off chance my mother should read this and be totally horrified), for me hitting this milestone means that I am now officially obligated to perve on guys who were born when I was already in school and even some who are of an age (over 18, all legal) that I could have technically given birth to them (now that makes me feel just a teensy bit old). Not only do I get chocolate birthday cake and pressies, but I must drool over hot younger men. I shall force myself if I must, I can't let the cougar sisterhood down. Besides it's my birthdy and I'll perve if I want to.
So for all my lovely readers I think it's only fair that I put up a picture of my cougar crush. We all need a little eye candy in our life. Sweet dreams dear readers, sweet dreams. See even on my birthday I'm thinking of you.
(Mmmm....Jensen Ackles.......mmmmmm.......sorry what was I saying?
I think I lost my train of......mmmmmm).
Oprah tells me I now know myself much better now than in my 20s. Apparently I have reached the guru swami level of spiritual equalibrium. I know what I want and how to get it. Things are all peachy from now on. Acording to a recent episode I should soon be jumping out of planes and doing roller derby. Lucky I still have my old roller skates, and I think I remember my Xanadu routine. Just give me a week or 6 to limber up. And lets face it, if Oprah says it, it must be true. I still believe she and her guests are on a steady diet of Prozac and tequila shots but hey whatever gets you through the day. I'm willing to get with the program.
According to medical science I am also now at my sexual peak. Apparently I have it goin' on. Okay, even I can't say that with a straight face. Mr Grumpy, stop laughing, wipe your eyes and pick yourself up off the floor. So my favourite part of Sex and The City was Carrie's closet full of Jimmy Choos, but hey I'm sure I picked up a trick or two sub-consciously. Is it possible that having it 'goin on', refers to flannelette pajamas, a carfully crafted muffin top, sparkly slippers and flossing out the spinach from between my teeth before bed? If so, I am officially a sex-bomb. Watch out honey, bom chiki wah wah, call me when you finally make it up the chandelier.
(Mr Grumpy brought me the best gluten free chocolate cake ever.
It has also been great for breakfast and lunch for the last few days).
So coo, coo, ca-choo, Mrs Robinson, and a happy birthday to me.
The Trainee Cougar Michelle :)
Simon & Garfunkel, Mrs Robinson 1968