18 and Life

I've always had a thing for younger men. Ricky, the first boy who held my hand was a sweet bird of youth; he was ten, I eleven. I still remember the way his blond hair stuck out underneath his red baseball cap, and the way his green eyes matched the patches of grass in the sandlot. Features that I'm sure made him extremely popular in jail, where I heard he last resides.

When I hit my mid 30's, the tidal wave of social prevalence came crashing onto the SS Quinn with terrifying force. If its true that hindsight is 20/20, then I can see clear to Budapest even on a cloudy day. There have been many instances of my desperate attempts to cling to youth, the least of which involved warm winds, Kid Rock's "All Summer Long" and a pink bra hanging from the antenna of a fast moving pickup truck. Trust me, nothing says humiliation like hearing yourself say: "What seems to be the problem officer?" while shielding your chest from behind a wet t-shirt and searching in vain for your insurance card.

Just when I had given into the idea that public indecency should be left to those under 25, I was introduced to a new trend that was sweeping the nation quicker than acid washed jeans. Demi Moore was the first big name, Cameron Diaz and Mariah Carey quickly followed suit. Before we could blink "Cougars" had taken over the world.

Now I'm technically not old enough to be a Cougar (that's 40+) but I am a "Puma--Cougar in Training." I know this because I joined a Facebook group that said so. I'm expecting the welcome kit and official certificate of achievement to arrive by Fed Ex any day now.

Perhaps its the absence of wrinkles, or the hearty frat boy laugh that reels me in, but I find myself in these sensual (read: comedic) situations at least three times a year; and after each escapade I sit and wonder: why? Why would I dry hump a baby faced college kid on the lawn of a concert only to walk away with a hickey the shape (and roughly the size of) Idaho? Or allow a Robert Pattinson lookalike to grind up against me and lick Tequila off my neck at my cousin's wedding? Am I longing for the adventures I never had in my 20's due to circumstance, or I am in a permanent state of Arrested Development?

All I know is that thanks to sunscreen and Ms Clairol I don't look a day over 24 (OK 26...27?) and I figure I'd better use it while it lasts. If I'm in danger of becoming that 50 year old chick who still strolls college campuses, well I guess there's worse things I could be. (Like the 60 year old chick who does that) In the meantime I'll just keep taking the punches as they come. Now if you'll excuse me, I've just gotten three texts that Taylor Lautner has turned 18. Road trip anyone?