When Cougars Attack! (or: Stan Lee Was Right)

Vocabulary Builder:

Cougar is a Canadian slang term for a woman, typically in her very late thirties, or forties or fifties who prefer to go out with men a decade or so younger than them. It’s supposedly derived from the fact that they tend to wear animal print clothing, especially leopard (although you’d think they’d be called leopards as a result). For more information, here’s a article, Cougar’s Night Out and this Toronto Sun article, She’s a Cougar, Hear Her Roar!

Actual conversation from last night at the Velvet Underground:

Cougar 1: Sorry about borrowing your hat, but I thought it might be a good way to get you on the dance floor.

Charming accordion player: No problem.

Cougar 2 (attempting, but failing, to say it discreetly to Cougar 1)
I think you should take the kid with accordion home. He could be the man of your dreams.

Cougar 1:
My friend says I should hook up with you…

Charming accordion player:
So I heard.

Cougar 1:
but I’m too drunk to do anything right now. Maybe later. Can I have your phone number?

Charming accordion player:
Waaaaait a minute. Hold on. What say we step back a little. My name’s Joey. Yours is…?

A few of her personal anecdotes later, my instinct to flee had crystallized into a watertight rational argument to run away screaming. I excused myself, saying I had to go and do some busking and went to my usual roost outside Amato’s Pizza.

My friend Sean [he’s the one on the left] was hanging around when I got there.

Sean: I thought you’d be here sooner.

Uh, yeah. Had an…interesting time at the Velvet.

It sounds like there’s more to it than that, judging by the tone of your voice.

Little misadventure. Somebody hitting on me and giving me a heavy dose of the TMI. Older women…

One blonde, one brunette, black tank tops and tight jeans?

Yeah, how’d you…?

They were grabbin’ me and my buddy’s asses last week at the pool tables.

The Velvet isn’t typically cougar hunting grounds. I blame global warming.

A little while later, cougars 1 and 2 walked by. Cougar 1 walked up to me, apparently to give me a peck on the cheek but changed directions for the mouth at the last moment. For some reason, I did a mental calculation and figured that she’s probably the oldest woman who’s ever kissed me (as my friend John Henson would say in a tiny, high-pitched voice, “I’m different now…”). She walked off saying, “Nice meeting you, Joey.”

Sean: Perhaps you want some Lysol for your lips.

Napoleon (the Zen Lounge door guy, and yes, that’s his real name):
Ladies loooooove the musicians.

Sean’s friend:
Accordion Guy gettin’ his freaky-freak with the divorcees.

I feel soiled.

Sometimes the accordion mojo shows its dark side. Stan Lee was right: with great power comes great responsibility.

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