The Fox and the Cougar
After a tumultuous Valentine’s Day long weekend, I decided to treat myself to Happy Hour outside the Fox Den. Packing my vegan knapsack with the latest issue of Vanity Fair, I covered up my nose and mouth, and walked two and a half blocks to Cactus Club.
Checking in at the front door, I asked for a table for one and then: provided my name and number for contract tracing, agreed to wear a mask when unseated, and signed an affidavit to remain kind and calm.
Following the host to a comfortable high-top in the lounge, I took a seat, unwrapped my scarf, and lathered my hands in sanitizer.
As far as chain restaurants go, Cactus is about as dressed up as they come. With stellar locations and delectable chicken tenders, it is the perfect place to take your parents when they fly in from the Midwest. Or a first date, when you are unsure of their dietary restrictions.
When the gorgeous server arrived with her iPad to take my order, my magazine was out, and I was ready to go.
“Please and thank you,” I began. “I will take a 9-ounce glass of the Happy Hour white to pair with the latest fashion trends. Then, switching to red and moving on to the cover story, I will have the steak frites.”
Well, wouldn’t you know it? I was so enmeshed with myself that I failed to notice the woman seated across from me. Glancing up from the rim of my glass, I caught sight of her shoes slicing through the air: four-inch heels, painted licorice black. From there, I noticed her legs, sheathed in tight-fitting tan faux leather pants. Cascading over her shoulders and diving into a deep V-neck, a satin snow-coloured top pointed the way to black lingerie underneath.
“Mrs. Robinson!” I gasped.
“Lifting my chin up with the help of my thumb, I was gripped with fear when her voracious eyes locked into mine.”
Slowly, I lowered my wine glass onto the cardboard coaster careful to not make any sudden movements. I was in the direct eyeline of a cougar and had no idea what to do next. With country bars closed indefinitely, I had heard about recent cougar sightings on Facebook. This was the first time; however, I had come to face to face. For the life of me, I could not escape the sinking feeling that I was now an item on the Happy Hour menu – to devour.
If this were another day and age, I would have nothing to fear. I am not her prey! Apart from a flannel shirt with a plaid print, every other part of me screamed homosexual – and aging. One sniff and surely, she’d move on! However, these are desperate times and let’s be honest, anything is possible. Reaching for my glass, I knew I could not cower any longer. I was going to have to stand my ground before the main course arrived.
Lifting my chin up with the help of my thumb, I was gripped with fear when her voracious eyes locked into mine. Now, all I could see was red. The full body of her crimson lips. The scarlet spackle of her acrylic nails, sharpened like daggers to their pointed tips. The stain of my blood smeared against the wall after being mercilessly ravaged. My eyeballs popped outside my head! I was toast with gluten-free bread!
My eye contact held steady as I observed her prowess and agility. Leaning into a genuinely concerned straw, one second later her frozen Bellini was gone.
“Sweet Meryl,” I muttered, that cocktail did not stand a chance.
Terrified, I knew the only thing standing in her way from pouncing on me, right then and there, was a protective sheet of Plexiglass.
Then it struck me! The two of us had much more in common than I originally thought. Both half-cut on a Monday afternoon and thirsty as ever – it was clear what we lacked in human affection we made up for in discounted beverages. While our hunting methods may have looked different, they were equally as cunning and clever. Zooming out on the shot, I could see the full picture of us sitting there, the fox and the cougar.
Raising my glass, a gentle smile meandered its way across my unmasked lips.
“Cheers,” I toasted.
“Cheers honey,” she winked, flagging the server down for another drink.
