A Tiger I am NOT!

So last week I got to be the director for a local art show. It was a lot more work than I anticipated but it was also a lot more fun.

The night of the artist's reception and awards ceremony I arrived early to set up chairs. As I carried chairs out of the library and over to the ceremony area I noticed a couple of teenage boys hanging out. But, this wasn't strange. The annual carnival was going on in the park next to the library and the entire area was literally swarming with teens.

Soon the boys started following me in and out as I carried chairs. They didn't seem like the kind of boys I'd want my daughter to date but still harmless enough. I started chatting with them a bit since they were there...are you here for the art show?...no?...the carnival?...it's starting to finally cool off...Pointless conversation.

I was just trying to be nice and besides I'd rather have weird teenage boys like me than try to mug me later when I'm walking to my car that night.

Then, as I turn the corner I over hear one of the boys (who by now have started to follow me inside the library while I'm moving the million chairs) say:

"OH YEA...she's a tiger!"
Then the other one says:
"It's called a cougar."
Then icky boy giggles ensue.

What the heck!?! I'm furious..for so many reasons. Not to mention creeped out. Tiger? Cougar? Whatever. I'll show them cougar. After I rip their limbs off and chuck their bloody corpses over into the cotton candy stands they'll think cougar. But before I get back to them they have been kicked out by a grumpy old art counsel volunteer. Lucky for them.

Cougar? Honestly. Did I look more available than one of the 15 year old carnies next door? Come on people! I wasn't wearing a tube top and my butt cheeks were tucked safely inside my old teacher lady pants. I was clearly dressed as to send off the vibes of suburban mom, community volunteer not freaky deaky middle age beast out on the prowl.

I'm still mad.

What's wrong with the youth of America? Resorting to harassing 30 somethings rather than the pool of ready and waiting carnival teens. It's shameful. Next time a teen age boy talks to me outside a carnival I'm just going to kick them in the gutt and point them in the direction of the Circle of Fire surrounded by a pack of scantily clad girls. And if that doesn't work I'll just bash them with my diaper bag and make a run for it.