About two months ago I'm minding my own business reading in the living room and my parents are in the kitchen having a snack. All of a sudden I hear (71 year old) Daddy ask Mama, "Brenda, what'd you say a 'cougar' was?" And Mom explains that a cougar is an older woman after a younger man. I hear Daddy start cackling. "Well, I got an email. It said there were 30 cougars waiting to meet me online." Mom and I are both snickering now. "Brenda, how old do you reckon them women'd have to be? 90?" And that's when we almost choked.
Fast forward to the day Daddy got out of the hospital. He was chomping at the bit to look at his tomato plants in the yard. Since he was still a little unsteady on his feet, he needed a cane. We had not acquired one at this point, so what's a good Southern family to do? Take a paint roller extender (minus the roller) and use it for a walking stick. Yup, we did. And because it's MY family, and MY father, it's not just a stick. It's a cougar stick. 'Cause he needed something to keep the cougars off.
And because I am the product of my father, I nicknamed him "Cougar Bait".
Which we still call him-to his face. 'Cause we're respectful like that.
For my peace of mind, would you please not tell your grandma about him?