The Real Queen Bees of Cougar Ville

cougars, single older women

source: hotel chatter.com

**Warning:  Some content may offend.  Sexual Content.**

I know I‘m an old married lady.  An old, apparently priggish one.  My lips are pursed just thinking about how puritanical I am.  I can feel the wrinkles forming.

I’m no party-pooper.  I know how to have a good time.  But, the fact is, I get uncomfortable when the privacies of the bedroom (or the living room or the kitchen counter) are discussed in frank and casual detail in front of me.  I’ve got a big ‘C’ (for Mrs. Cleaver) pasted on my chest. According to my contemporaries, I should crawl back into the Victorian era that I came from.

Once, I was cajoled into going to one of those passion parties.  This woman had brought all manner of vibrators and gels and other love toys.  She DEMONSTRATED (in a manner of speaking) a little gadget that fit over your finger, and which was apparently so discreet you could use it in the car. USE IT IN THE CAR!  Wouldn’t that be driving under the influence?  Can you imagine picking up carpool and as the kiddies got into the car, ‘Hello. HEllo. HELLLLOOOOOOO. KIDS!!’  Anyways, after she finished showing all the gizmos and gadgets, girls went into another room, and while every one else was snacking on cheese and crackers, ordered their ‘dessert’ for brown-paper-bag delivery later.  Not exactly my thing.

I know its surprising, since I’m pretty much an open book and a total over-sharer about everything else, but I’m not a big on public discussions of affection.   I’ll listen, all right, red-faced, and squirming in my seat.  When pressed I’ll eventually blurt out a detail or two.

I can’t say the same for some of the divorced women that I’ve recently met. They seem to be re-experiencing the sexual revolution.  Very verbally.  I know I’m a self-admitted conservative in this area, but still…I think maybe they’re going too far.

Cher said, ‘The problem with most men is they’re assholes.  The problem with most women is they put up with those assholes.’

Until they get a divorce.

Then, women are free. Like butterflies.  Or honey bees.

‘The queen bee in a honey bee hive is encouraged to be as promiscuous as possible. During a single mating flight, a queen bee can mate with up to forty drones. The more sexual partners a queen has, the more attractive she is to the worker bees that keep her hive running.’  (Huffinton Post, Lindsay Armstrong)

Once single, the ‘honey bees’ are freed form the constraints of monogamy.  Of husbands. And set free into a veritable smorgasbord of carnal delights.  I know this, because they tell me. Unprompted

One woman I didn’t event know announced, out of nowhere:  ’I love to suck c*ck! I just love it!’

Another, telling a group of us about her weekend: ‘Its fabulous having a young man. The one I’ve got f*cked me 7 times in one night. Its the best. He didn’t stop.’

And, also, a lady who likes her freedom: ‘I don’t want a relationship.  I just want to get F*cked. Like a lot.’

Ladies, just because we can, doesn’t mean we should.  Talk about it. Like that.  

Now, don’t get me wrong.  Everyone is entitled to have a lively, satisfying, and yes, energetic sex life.  Use as many toys, materials, accessories, and partners as you’d like.  No problem. However, as I say to my kids, its your privacy.  Just like I don’t want to hear about my parents doing it, I don’t really want to know your intimate details. I have no need to live vicariously through your white hot nights.

I honestly believe that comments like these actually set women back.  They’re too forced.  Too open.  These are things you might confide in a best friend. Not announce boldly to strangers at a party. We’re not 18-year-old boys bragging about our conquests.  We’re mature women: gorgeous, smart, strong.  Comments like these just feed the caricaturization of ‘Cougars on the Prowl’.

My question is this:  Would you want your DAUGHTER talking like that?

The Valium Chronicles: What Happened to Privacy or Personal Space?

Stay out of my bathroom source: www.zazzle.com

Twice on Twitter the conversation has turned to the toilet and privacy. More specifically the last time any of the moms went to the bathroom by ourselves without interruption.  The general consensus was that once you have kids, you never ever ever go to the toilet without company.  I’ve breastfed on the toilet, snuggled on the toilet, signed permission forms on the toilet, had serious conversations on the toilet, and grounded a teen on the toilet.

From my vast experience of 17 years as a mom, I’ve determined that when I became a mother, I gave up any possession of my body, personal space,  food, or belongings.  It started during preconception, when discussions of ovulation, cervical mucus,and the condition of my uterus became fair game. The loss of privacy or personal space steamrolled from there.

At the hospital:  I gave birth to my first child in a teaching hospital.  After the 10th student came in just ‘to have a look’, I declared my ‘lady parts’ off limits. I believe my exact words were, ‘If one more person tries to look at my vagina I’m going to stick a giant needle in their back all the while telling them to hold still while they’re having a contraction.  Then I’m going to f*^%en kill them.’  Once I had my girl, about 300 different nurses felt the need to manhandle my breasts and nipples in an effort to teach me to breast feed.

 Toddlers:  There’s nothing like a screaming tantrum in a store to bring out the ‘best of’ childrearing from  bystanders.  I’ve had folks tell me, in extreme detail, how I should handle my children’s tantrums, how their diet is affecting their behaviour, or even worse, glare at me and tsk tsk. Have they never heard of the expression MYOB?  Also seemingly free game to toddlers is your meals.  Nothing you’ve prepared for your child to eat can look as appetizing as what’s on your plate.  While its endearing for your wee one to scramble onto your lap during dinner, THAT’S MY FORK, KID!  My third child also had a particularly appropriate habit of sticking his hand down my shirt to cop a feel at the most inopportune moments, such as anytime we were in public.

Kids:  I knew my son was growing up when I took him into a family washroom at Zellers and while I was hovering over the toilet to avoid germs, I looked at him and he was crouched down and peering up to see exactly where the pee came from.  That was a special moment in our relationship which I’m sure I’ll hear about more in a therapy session one day.

Tweens and Teens:  It was a lovely day the first time my son (now 15) walked into my room while I was changing, exclaimed ‘Ewwww! Disgusting!’ and ran out.  I screamed after him, ‘Its MY room!  If you don’t want to see my boobies, which breastfed you, then knock before you enter.’  Also a potential topic for therapy, it took him two years before he started barging into my bathroom again.

Apparently I don’t actually own any of belongings such as clothing, makeup, shoes, or beauty accessories. Since my daughter started wearing the same size tops and shoes as me, it seems to be a situation of ‘mi casa es su casa’.  If I want to use anything that belongs to me, all I have to do is go into her room. The exception is if was actually purchased for her. Then, its hers.  And I’m not to touch it.   By the way, its heartwarming to see her friends walking out of the house wearing my clothing. I KNEW that’s why I bought those items! (I’m being facetious, in case you were wondering)

Don't touch my clothes! source: www.welcomemats.com

The final straw was this evening. I was undressing to take a shower and my daughter followed me into the bathroom chattering away about something that was extremely important to her.  I calmly said, ‘Please leave, I’m naked and I want to take a shower.’ Her answer, ‘Who cares?  I came out of you.’

My answer?  I CARE!!! GET OUT OF MY BATHROOM I WANT TO TAKE A SHOWER! WE DON’T LIVE IN A COMMUNE!’

Where have you seen your boundaries blur since you’ve had children?