I was talking to my mother on the phone last night, my mother who is 82 years old, a great-grandmother, brain-damaged and crippled from a devastating stroke in 2007.
"I'm a cougar," she informed me. "Do you know what a cougar is?"
"Umm, yeah," I said.
"I like young men in tight blue jeans," she said, "I don't have any use for old men in baggy pants."
Sometimes my mom just rocks.