So of course there's the blonde hot desk worker lady. Probably 25 years old. She greets members as they enter the facility and changes the trash bags. And she's hot. And until recently I thought that was the extent of her job description. Silly me. How foolish I was to think that this flaxen vixen wasn't up to something much more sinister. You see, where a Cougar preys on the younger man, this specimen (speciwoman?) seeks out the older, decrepit male population. She's a Cougar Cub. I noticed it for the first time last week. Then again twice this week. And finally again today. Four times is no coincidence. She's systematic. (I know this isn't the first ever case of young-lady/old-man, but this is so close to home. It's home-grown Cougarism) There's even a specific spot in the gym (the recumbent bikes) that she stakes out. She's like an actual cougar laying in the tall grass, waiting for some dopey dear at a watering hole. She waits for the old chap to settle in, break a light sweat, then she pounces. Sure, to the untrained eye it looks like they're having a pleasant conversation, but I'm not convinced. I refuse to believe that she's concerned about the patrons of her employer and that it is in her best interest to make sure they're comfortable. Bull.
While I can't technically substantiate any of these allegations (I always have headphones on. Angry gangster rap blaring. It scares me, and fear is a natural muscle builder. Read a book.), I'm working on my lip-reading skills. I'm still a novice but I think today Cougar Cub asked the unsuspecting fella (anything I write here will be misconstrued as inappropriate sexual innuendo so I'll take the high road and end the sentence now. Sicko.).
The only remaining chapter to be written in this story includes the tale where I, in a slip of the tongue, accidentally call her "Cougar Cub" to her face. Stay tuned.
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