A few years ago there was a commercial for Staples that ran during the November-December holiday season. (If you're not familiar with it and want to see it, I'm sure it's out on the interwebs somewhere...but it's not important to this, because I'm a writer and can paint word pictures for you. ;) )
The commercial itself was okay, but there was one part that made me laugh hysterically like a three year old discovering their uncanny ability to make adults do their bidding with repeated funny faces and/or pratfalls. It's a relatively peaceful scene of a person puttering in the snow outside the house and a GPS device flings out of the sky and hits him on the head, causing him to fall down. No, I'm not advocating laughing at violence or pain (at least not that I'm admitting out loud), but right at the point it hits, there comes a voice from the GPS saying "You have reached your destination."
Kills me. Dead. Every dang time. Even sitting here recounting it, I'm laughing. (Shut UP, I do *so* have a sophisticated sense of humor!)
The point of bringing this commercial to bear is that sometimes life hits us with a-ha moments where everything just clicks into place. For me, many of these occur when I'm struggling with writing something, typically having to do with plot adjustments. Of course, this is where I let the Muse* and my subconscious deal with it, and as a result, most of my a-ha moments come at the same time as the phrase "Ohgodisitmorningalreadyandwhereisthedamnsnoozebuttonanyway" is mumbled from under the duvet.
*(tangent): I've been wondering if I should name the Muse. It seems rude to just be using a title when we work so closely together. Plus, when I'm angry with her, it would probably make me feel better to yell right at her. She probably needs a middle name too for that matter...
I had another one of those epiphanal moments recently, but it didn't make me burst into joyous song and dance (like all the other ones do). In fact it was more along the lines of "Oh crap, really?" And after a few days of meditative contemplation, I'm ready to share.
Somehow, without my actually being aware of it, I became a Cougar. No, not a cougar like a wild animal - although some mornings my hair does look like I've been tearing around a jungle all night, but that's beside the point. A Cougar, like a middle-aged woman on the prowl.
I know, right? I don't know how that happened either.
Wait, what are YOU talking about?!?
I'm talking about the middle-aged. (Let's face it, every woman has the potential to be a Cougar. haha) I'm not sure how it happened, but it sure did happen in the blink of an eye. One minute I'm watching this music video and thinking the lead singer is really cute, and the next I'm realizing that I'm old enough to be his mother.
Then it was everywhere. Pictures of film stars, the realization that actors and singers from my teens had grown children.
Of course, I did have to check and see if a married woman could actually be called a Cougar, and I was assured most intensely by a couple of people on Facebook that it was definitely a label that could be placed on a married woman.
However in the big scheme of things, I think Cougar is a better title than old cow, so I'll take it.