I am woman, hear me…

Cougar? Please!

Last week, someone called me a cougar.

👑 The scene: I’m 50(ish). He’s 42. That’s not a scandal, that’s a Netflix age gap. Eight years and suddenly I’m out here being cast as some wild jungle cat with a thirst for young blood?

Bitch, please.

Let me break this down: when a man dates younger, he’s “successful.” When a woman does it, she’s a cougar. I didn’t pounce—I just existed, confidently, in my prime. And that alone seemed to trigger the wildlife metaphors.

If being attractive, self-assured, and unbothered makes me a “cougar,” then get me my own nature docuseries. But let’s get something straight: I’m not stalking anyone. If anything, they come sniffing around me.

This isn’t about age—it’s about energy. And mine is seasoned, sexy, and selective. Call it what you want. I call it thriving.

At The Big O, we embrace the things people try to turn into punchlines—and turn them into power. So yeah, I’ve got the claws. I’ve got the confidence. Sometimes I’m the hunter and sometimes I’m the prey.

Have you been labeled lately? Drop it in the comments if ya want to discuss.

🔥 O Rating: 🐆🐆🐆🐆 4 Os Timing could not have been more perfect, this blog practically wrote itself.
🌀 Mood O’ the Day: A little bit flattered and a little hung over.

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