Cautionary Advice For Closet Cougars: Do Not Shop Drunk With 20-Something Girls

A few summers ago I signed up to spend a whole month in Paris at a writing workshop. “Those things are for kids,” my mother had said. “Nuh-uh,” I replied, even though I feared she might be right. I actually tried justifying the learning aspect and talked up the inexpensive housing that would allow me to explore the City of Light on a budget. But, somehow she predicted imminent behavior of the moronic kind. The night before I left, her parting words were, “Don’t act like an idiot and remember how many calories there are in alcohol.”

After a week of settling into my two-star hotel room, I’d become friends with a couple of girls in the program, Tina-Marie and Sara. Although my new buds were half my age, they remarked that I could “totally pass for thirty,” and I stupidly started to believe it. My energy was boundless. My thirst to drink up that potent city and relive my younger days became a literal interpretation. (Gunning for perpetually intoxicated seems about right.)

One day the three of us were strolling around St. Germain. We had stopped in front of a shop and the slutty display brought back fond memories from my ‘80s punk rock phase.

“Too bad I can’t wear shoes like that anymore,” I said to my pals with nonexistent pores.

“Honey, you should. You’re still hot,” Tina-Marie quipped.

I hate it when someone says that. It makes me think of a chicken that’s been taken out of the oven and left on the counter, but might still be edible. Even though the time limit for actual hotness has passed, its lukewarm state could be overlooked by the truly starving.

She and Sara dragged me in amongst the stacks of shoeboxes. Maybe it was Paris, maybe it was the umpteen Kir Royales I’d consumed, or maybe it was the fact I was shopping with twenty-four year olds? I’m not quite sure, but I spied a pair of metallic T-strapped five-inch platforms and slapped them on. I caught a glimpse of knotted calf in the mirror.

“You HAVE to get those!” they both shrieked.

I teetered around the boutique trying to recall the last time I’d worn heels so high. Oh, right. How could I forget that wasted night at Nell’s? Those pleather vintage boots designed solely for leaning against a brick wall in a dark alley, or anything that did not involve walking. I sprained my ankle so badly, the next day my foot looked like an over-stuffed meatloaf.

Yet, the optimism in the girls’ eyes led me to believe I could pull them off.

“Okay,” I agreed. Why not?

“You should totally wear those tonight,” the girls chimed in unison.

For some stupid-ass reason, I’d also packed a Victoria’s Secret push-up bra I’d bought the year before to appease the guy I was dating after he’d pointed at Tyra Banks’ cleavage during America’s Next Top Model and grunted, “I like.” Jesus. Whatever possessed me to Kardashian-up is unknown, but somehow I figured the hoisting of the boobs went nicely with the hooker heels. A plunging v-neck dress completed my new persona. I could have been a living ad for a doll named “Menopausal Cougar Barbie” (*Detachable paunch sold separately).

It reminded me of when I used to trade tops with some prettier friend in Junior High. Back then I thought sporting a disguise would lead to a better, zit-free life. The idea of donning another girl’s threads was moderately thrilling and usually lasted until somebody complimented her for wearing my blouse.

Later at a crowded, hipster brasserie with the rankest unisex toilet in Western Europe, our trio kicked back under an awning and naturally ordered more drinks. Underneath the glimmering streetlights, there he stood, this swizzle-stick in a dirty suit, smoking a long, brown cigarette. He looked majorly cool in his too-tight jacket, like the dude from Twilight, only without the pallid skin tone.

“He’s totally checking you out,” said Tina-Marie.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” I laughed.

He flicked his cigarette butt onto the wet cobblestones and sauntered over to our table. His arrogant eyes locked with mine. But, as he moved closer, his B.O. reeked worse than the bathroom’s stench, if that was possible. I quickly rose with an attempt to gasp fresher air and fell forward knocking my purse off an empty chair. The drunk-ass scramble caused my legs to wobble like a newborn colt on cocaine. I always wondered if I could still do the splits.

“From a deestance, I thought your mother waz one of those housewives from your American television,” he said in broken English, looking at Sara.

If only I’d learned the French translation for “Blow me.” I should have kicked that stinky prick upside the Balzac. But, technically he was right. Forgetting your age can often backfire on your ass. And, it feels just as shitty as the first time some Jack-wad called me “Ma’am.”

I quietly limped off into the darkness and hailed a taxi back to the hotel, which seemed to be the most non-idiotic thing I’d done since arriving in Paris. I’m pretty sure I called my mom and bitched about the eight-pound weight gain situation, but maturely blamed it on the macarons. TC mark

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image – Julien Haler

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  • omg

    you’re on TC and NOT 24??? This was refreshing.

  • Anonymous

    “He looked majorly cool in his too-tight jacket, like the dude from Twilight,”

    *record screech*

    • babe in the big city

      omg i looked majorly cool guffawing at my computer.

      yes. i guffaw.

  • Captain Obvious

    My GAWD someone with life experience beyond college and just leaving mommy and daddy is on TC! Alert the press! 

  • http://twitter.com/spencercniemetz Spencer Niemetz

    Carrie Bradshaw syndrome.

  • indi

    OH MY GOD thank you for having something to say other than “I’m twenty three and I live in New York”

    well done.

  • http://www.facebook.com/iamahmad Ahmad Radheyyan

    OMG! *congratulates author on a job well done solely based on the fact that it isn’t 100% identical to 100% of all other TC articles, despite the fact that the article is just as pointless and vapid, but featuring a different age bracket*

    I could totally use this advice, being a closet cougar, who was debating hanging out with twentysomething girls! Thanks for saving me that trip! LOL!

    • http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=508371039 Rayan Khayat

      Don’t be an ass! Are you frequently expecting deep ”profound” essays that will provide you with personal revelations? Especially from a very DIY amateur blog with no specific topic? And just because you can’t relate to this doesn’t make it ”pointless and vapid.” This is actually a pretty insightful and refreshingly/sensitively unguarded piece.

      • Jillparis

        Thanks!

  • your cousin

    This is such a nice change of pace. Please write more.

  • http://brianmcelmurry.blogspot.com/ Brian McElmurry

    This was cool. Maybe give yr cougar wings another go, maybe? I like the determination of going to a writing program in yr 40’s!

    • Jillparis

      So sweet.  I actually have two master’s degrees, one in Humanities that I got at the age of 43 and then one in Professional Writing at 49!!!  It’s never too late people!  EVER.

  • Guest

    I was kinda nervous that “cougar” was going to = 28 or 29.

    • Leigh

      omg me too 

  • Anonymous

    So what we’re learning here is that not all of the self absorbed people are twenty somethings that “freelance” in New York. Its spreading.

  • victoria elliott

    jill paris went to paris
    aww

  • victoria elliott

    jill paris went to paris
    aww

  • Lothar

    Some day I’ll share my gay male version of this.  It ain’t any prettier and it sure wasn’t Paris.  *shudders*

  • http://www.nosexcity.com NoSexCity

    I want to hug you. And burn those shoes, they sound dangerous. Please tell me you’ll be posting here more often!

    • Jillparis

      Shoes have already been given away to the Goodwill.  And, thanks…I hope to post again soon!  You can add me on Facebook to see other stories of mine get published if you’d like.  I just had one put up today on Fathom.  Hugs to you.

  • http://somuchtocome.blogspot.com Aja

    I think this is the first time I have laughed aloud while reading TC in a long time.  You had so many great lines.   My favorite:  “I should have kicked that stinky prick upside the Balzac.” 

    • Jillparis

      Bless you.  I love that you got my Honore de Balzac as ball sack/scrotum reference.  It was probably lost on many.  If I made you laugh out loud then I’m thrilled.  Thank you!

  • http://somuchtocome.blogspot.com Aja

    I think this is the first time I have laughed aloud while reading TC in a long time.  You had so many great lines.   My favorite:  “I should have kicked that stinky prick upside the Balzac.” 

  • Muertecaramelo

    Yesterday I had a glimpse of this situation. I fell in love with an amazing dress just to hear my friend say: “That is something Elle Fanning would wear to her prom. You are not 19 for christ sake!”

    I’m thankful for my realistic fab gay friends.

  • http://twitter.com/tannnyaya Tanya Salyers

    So refreshing to hear something different than the TC norm.  Keep writing here!

  • http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=807220175 Jessica De la Cruz

    “From a deestance, I thought your mother waz one of those housewives from your American television”

  • Nathalie

    Best article ever! I truly enjoyed reading it from the first word to the last

  • http://missvpage.wordpress.com jenglenn80

    Reblogged this on My Life Uncensored.

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