As a free-spirited 26-year-old, I support a wide range of lifestyles. But I’m just not into sharing the same dating pool with my mom—a fit, fun-loving, blonde bombshell of a 50-year-old. After all, the term “cougar” is only funny if your mother isn’t one.
A glamour girl in suburban Baltimore, my mom was bound for the ranks of “heartbreakers of a certain age” long before her marriage to my father—a great dad but an admittedly crappy husband—crumbled a few years ago. The object of many younger boys’ affections, she had the lifeguards at our pool drooling and my lacrosse player friends deeming her a “M.I.L.F.” By the time I got to college, I wasn’t fazed by the frat boys who swarmed around her during parents’ weekend. They would take turns spinning me and Mom around on the beer-soaked dance floor, until I told her it was time to go home. Keep reading »









