Curvy Cougar Country: The First Impression

READER SUBMISSION: Curvy Cougar Country A little bit of insight from a one curvy cougar to another.

Online Love: The Era of Romance?

Chapter 2:

Here’s The ‘Skinny.’ The other day I was messaged by a very hot guy. Super hot, you know the kind, slightly dishevelled hair, dreamy eyes and just enough hint of a hard abdominal wall to realise that I was salivating. He was a nutritionist. He was from Mexico. He was the ice cream and I was the spoon. Yes, I said to myself as I continued to read while visualising buns so tight I felt them bouncing off the walls. My mind became a flutter with the thought of obliques that could melt ice caps and long fingers that knew just how to steer the ‘little man in the canoe.’ Then he spoke.

Why do they speak?

The opening to any online introduction is ‘the hook’ and believe me, whether we admit it or not, there is pressure. In an era where sparkling wit, intellect and va va voom can be discounted in a single swipe. We are led to believe that there is one opportunity to create an impression. If you get it wrong, you may miss ‘the one.’ No house in the Hamptons, no fourth of July family barbecues and your two adopted fur babies, Goulda and Chi Chi will remain unrescued from that puppy farm in Cali.

So many obstacles can block your path to love. Your problem could be your photo. Maybe you have RBF (resting b*tch face), maybe your mouth is loaded with Tic-Tac teeth, maybe you look like you live with a cats….lots of them. The reasons for rejection are as varied as they are ridiculous. I’ve heard them all. ‘One of her boobs is bigger than the other’ (news flash d*ckhead…there is always one bigger than the other), she had weird thumbs, (really? well, you need a shave… and I don’t mean your face!)

Society jumps in with a solution. Why not ‘pitch’ yourself? Create a brand. There’s nothing wrong with that. We all deserve to feel special right? Absolutely! Maslow knew this fact more than most. He thought that ‘self actualisation’ (the need to feel unique) was integral to our growth and development as stable, happy human beings. ‘What a man can be, he must be.’ His 1943 paper on human motivation recognised that there are innate sensibilities in each of us. He philosophised that in order to reach our full potential we had to connect with and experience joyfully, several grounding elements like love, safety and belonging. This, coupled with feeling special would nurture confidence, courage and release untapped potential. The result would be a generation of adults who intrinsically contained ‘metamotivation;’ the constant desire to better oneself. You can see where I’m heading right? His ideas have in many ways come to fruition. We are a generation of doers, goal setters and achievers. Here’s me climbing a mountain. Here’s me meeting the Dali Lama, Here’s me starting my own company. All the best parts of ourselves are put on display like shining ornaments on the christmas tree that is mass media.

And yet, our online society encourages us to dumb down our introductions, just incase we’re a bit too intimidating. The irony isn’t lost on me. Be fabulous! Just not too fabulous! Create a small bite size portion of yourself that can be consumed quickly and cost effectively by the masses. Don’t be too intense! You don’t want people to think you’re weird right? Be too flirty, you’re a sl*t. Be too reserved, obviously frigid. Be too playful. You must be vapid. Disagree with an opinion? Drama queen! Are you fun and frivolous, educated and entertaining or a happy hook up? And suddenly we go from being people to catch phrases, cliches and stereotypes. Lemmings, who try so hard to be different…that we end up looking and sounding exactly the same. Like ice in a finely nuanced scotch, the very flavour that made us stand out from the crowd, gets watered down. The result? We become the butt of everyones jokes. We’ve all read the Tinder Bylines: ‘I like fatties with big foreheads.’ ‘I like to keep it simple. Just me, you and a freshly shaved muff.’ ‘This is me wearing 25 sweaters. I also like a*al.

Now, I’m not a hater. We all want to seperate ourselves from the crowd. We want to be honest about expectations. I’m not stupid. I know that even several drops of water in a floral single malt unwinds the amino acids and creates new flavours. All I’m saying is don’t sell yourself short. There is more to you than your ability to wear 25 sweaters.

by Shondelle Pratt AKA The Curvy Cougar 


Curvy Cougar Country: Online love: The Era of Romance?

READER SUBMISSION: A little bit of advice from a one curvy cougar to another.

Chapter 1: Lets Get Started

Let me just preface by saying I love the idea of love. Hell, I’ll shout it from the roof tops. Notting Hill – Julia Roberts and I could have been sisters (in my mind). From Here To Eternity; get me on a beach bitches I’m ready to roll in the sand. ‘Cuddles and kisses and crisp morning papers,’ was my version of ‘Favourite Things.’ I was a modern day Maria Von Trap. One date away from finding my count and the adopted troupe of rescue fur babies I always wanted.

My list was simple enough: A pulse, humour, kindness and generosity of spirit. I’ve always believed there are no awards given to people who tear others down. Someone to leave me alone when I was busy but laugh with me late at night. ‘Oh my God, you wouldn’t believe it… someone ripped one in the office today. It was like rotten camembert and curry! Hilarious.’  I won’t apologise for my love of fart stories. It’s who I am!

I didn’t need a big wage, a fast car or even a hairless back. Sounds easy right? Hmmmm.

I never saw myself as the marrying kind. Raised Mormon (but not practicing), I grew up taught that family was everything. You grow up, you get married, have a family and pride yourself on service and a minimal carbon foot print. Even as a child, when my dad would espouse, ‘When you get older and find someone….’ the vision of who I wanted to be with was blurry. Man? Woman? Dog? Ferret? The list was endless, just never complete. My father still has a fixation on me marrying a farmer! But that’s another story.

I didn’t see a dress, or a groom, or a flurry of bridesmaids and flowers. I didn’t even see myself owning my own house. I just wanted company. A laugh, a cuddle and some very good, sweaty, hot sex. Just not all the time ( I have to think of my hair, you know!)

Then I turned forty. Suddenly I jumped an age bracket. I needed glasses. My knees started to hurt and my ego took a dive. I stopped being carded. I cried the first time the young boy at the check-out called me ‘Maam.’ I walked to my car and sobbed. I started to have visions of a house filled with cats. A ‘Grey Garden’ style manner where ‘Little Edie,’ was replaced by Bernard, the local badger, a homeless dude who went through my garbage and a chronic masturbating neighbour who liked to wave hello through the window to me mid mazz. I saw myself as ancient and alone. Filling jars with my own belly button lint, making floral cosies from weeds and draping myself in half finished sewing projects patched with masking tape.

So I went online…I’m good looking I thought. I have just enough junk in the trunk to cause trouble and my boobies aren’t quite to my knees. As I started to feel braver my catch cries became joyous! I’m articulate. I’m a professional. I’m funny. I’m awesome… bring it on!

Jason, a financial planner, started the dinner conversation with ‘I’ve been at the police station all day…someone saw my car at the scene of a murder… but I didn’t do it.’ Cheque… Brian, who ran a massive hotel and shopping mall, joyfully ate shrimp with the shell still on (head and all) sucking his fingers while he told me why he didn’t think women were very funny or could sing well. ‘They just don’t get me here,’ as he pointed to his heart. I suggested that perhaps it was the company of men he was seeking, went to the toilet and didn’t come back.

Mig, thought I was was a human pretzel. I didn’t mind him.

David Tindered me late at night with questions about repetitive thrusts and Red Tube.

Matt said during a drunk dial that he liked me, in fact he didn’t think he was going to have so much fun but he just got out of a 16 year relationship 6 weeks ago. What he really wanted was to have crazy sex with lots of women and tell funny stories at work. He  went on to tell me that the ‘boys’ at work said he didn’t even need to tell me how he felt. He was allowed to simply stop talking to me. ‘That’s how you do it now days.’ I then took time to explain that because we weren’t in primary school and lived on this planet I called ‘earth,’ we considered each other feelings and communicated with words rather than butt grabs and grunts. His ‘boys’ were idiots. Ghosting was not cool and he was a d*ck.

After a few of these interactions my list of pre-date questions refined. I learned to cull quickly and without mercy. I’m not a dummy. I realise that human beings can choose to be honest or not. I relied on my ‘spidey skills.’ That innate voice that says “Shonni, this person is not from your tribe.”  I assumed nothing.

  • Do you have any arrest warrants?
  • Am I talking to you or your carer?
  • Do you want me for yourself or your wife?
  • Are you a cross dressing transvestite with a bondage fetish?

I‘m an open minded person. I don’t care if your a Dom, sub, femme, butch, pagan, bottom or top. You can be a practising poly, puppy, swinger, transgender, nudist, old guard, brat, switch, mistress, slave or indulge in a scoop of vanilla. Be honest about who you are. I’ll do the same. I love to laugh, I love to have fun. I’ll stand in the rain and show you my true passion for interpretive dance while screaming out lyrics to Bon Jovi’s Blaze of Glory. I find no shame in truthfully connecting to what I require and desire. I also own the fact that a few steps in, I could change my mind and that’s ok too.

I’m not a millennial. I don’t like to keep it vague. I was in adult relationships before mobile phones became requisite and people tweeted their feelings rather than expressed them. Although the New York Post says that the term ‘date’ has been replaced by the phrase ‘hanging out,’ the 21 year old inside me that grew up in a time where they were totally different concepts begs to differ.

I’ll update you on how I go. As a forty year old woman I give myself liberties my twenty year old self would never have done. If someone doesn’t ask me questions about myself during a date, I wont see them again. If they act like they’re not interested in me, I’ll assume they’re not. Life is too short. Open a door, I like it. Offer to pay at the end of the date. I’ll contribute but if they asked me out then the cheque is theirs.

I’m not embarrassed about my career, my standards or my curves, it took 40 years to learn to like myself and I don’t have the same amount to time to waste convincing anyone of my value. Chin up cougars!

Let’s work on turning our kitty cat paws into cougar claws.

Shondelle Pratt AKA The Curvy Cougar 

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