Not quite a cougar

I have a date tomorrow. With a 24 year old. Yes, I know that puts me ALMOST at cougar status. Shut up! It is still far from being a cougar!

I realized in meeting him that there are some almost-significant differences between 24 and 31. (Seriously, isn't 7 years difference still grounds for "kitten," or at the very most, "puma"?) For instance, some big differences are

• I found myself making out with him outside of a bar in the middle of a very busy stretch of sidewalk. At 31, not a completely shining moment. At 24, maybe I'd tell all my friends. (I mean, please. I still did tell all my friends. Come on, I was making out, in public, with a really, really cute guy still in his physical prime! Shouldn’t everyone know?!)
• When he asked me out, he suggested a college bar at which I might need to put something down on the bar stool before I sat. I gently persuaded him to go to a place that was a little more interesting--and well, hygienic, maybe a bit more grown up. 
• In getting ready for the date, at 24, I'd fall out of bed after a nap, slap on some lip gloss and mascara and be ready to roll! At 31, I'm searching frantically for my favorite wrinkle filler cream, and there's a tiny gray hair sticking up on the top of my head I can't quite grab, taunting me. Either way, you can count on the fact that I’ve got a glass of wine in hand!
• If the date goes well, we might want to extend the evening. If we go back to his 24 year-old's place, it might mean cheap beer out of his roommates' kegerator, sitting around a sticky beer pong table. At my house, we'd drink nice wine over a pile of financial statements on my lovely, clean coffee table. Oh, who are we kidding? I don't have "investments," well, beyond the 4 different 401(k)s I still haven't gotten around to rolling into one at my current job.
• At 24 to prepare for the potential “night cap” at my place, I might shove all the clothes from the floor into the closet and shut the door. At 31, I contemplate taking down from my refrigerator the numerous birth announcements and 1st birthday party invitations with smiley, happy babies staring off of them. Potentially intimidating for a young man?

So, I’m going to go out with this young buck, spend most of the evening having a smashing good time and a tiny bit of the evening wondering how old I’m actually going to allude to being. Maybe I have a slight age complex?

I’ll keep you posted!