Trouble's Friend Thinks I Am a MILF

 

At the Festival of Books last weekend my young friend, “tutorette,” and not-so-secret teen crush Trouble were walking together among the huge crowd and constantly getting separated by people shuffling this way and that almost shoulder to shoulder. Trouble finally grasped my arm and took my hand to keep us close together. I have to admit, being close to her again made my heart race a little. She’s been busy with classes, university activities, and some dating. She has generally not been around the neighborhood much despite the fact that she still lives with her mom and aunt down the street.

Wandering among the book stalls and tents, we occasionally encountered friends, said hello, and simply enjoyed being together. At one point, we met a handsome young man, a junior at the university, who had become friends with Trouble. The three of us decided to have lunch together at one of the food trucks at the mall and spent a happy hour or so munching tacos.

On the drive home, Trouble told me about a conversation she had with her friend while I was taking a break at the porta-potties. The line was long, so they had some time to chat alone. She said he thought I was, “a really hot MILF.” When she told him I was not a mom, he said, “Okay, a cougar then.” My reaction must have been clearly apparent.

Trouble added, “I don’t like labels, but he meant it as a compliment. He thinks you’re really attractive. Everyone does … especially me.” She seemed to sense the boy’s compliment caught me off-guard.

Yes, I’ll be turning 40 years old in the not-too-distant future. I’m fit though. I go to the gym almost daily, and I hike, bike, swim, dance, and participate in outdoor adventures whenever I can. I’m petite and have somewhat of a boyish figure with small hips and breasts, so that lends to my younger appearance. I don’t think I look old enough yet to qualify as a MILF or a cougar.

But there it is. A 21-year-old college boy, who could be one of my students, called me a MILF and a cougar.

As we drove past a small desert park that adjoins our neighborhood, Trouble said, “Let’s stop at the park for a while.” I parked the car and we strolled down a small nature trail we’ve both enjoyed many, many times. After a few minutes of small talk about the book festival, Trouble stopped, took my hands in hers, and said, “You know I turn 18 next month.” I nodded, of course, I knew.

“A few of my friends are throwing me a party, but I’m not inviting you. Instead, the day after I want you to take me out to dinner at The Grill at Hacienda del Sol. Will you?”

I had to pause and take a deep breath and consider what her request might or might not mean. Still, I couldn’t hold back a big grin, “I will.”

Looking terribly sincere, “You promise?”

“I promise.”

Holding hands, we finished our walk in silence, exchanging glances that said far more than words would have.

Just for reference, here are two women I admire who are my age.