My husband comfortably residing in his 30’s after I turned 40 was never funny to me, the cougar jokes being unimaginative at best.  What self-respecting cougar chooses a boy-toy only 3 and a half years her junior?  I resisted the urge to lash out at jokesters by reminding myself that he does possess many of the desirable traits of young hotties in the movies, as evidenced by the double-takes he gets when we are out and about.  At one of his office parties a mature female who had rid herself of inhibitions with her tenth drink told me, “Your husband is the guy we all fantasize about”.  I responded that fantasies are best kept private.  I owe her my gratitude, though, for gifting me with something to tease him about for the remainder of our days, especially when he does not feel like a hottie.

I secretly enjoyed his angst over turning 40, but made up for it by not giving him over-the-hill presents, mainly because I knew he would point out that I will always be older.
Using his preoccupation with getting old, I easily convinced him that this landmark birthday demanded a physical examination.  Our doctor told him that he is still young
and in great shape, so my partner may get his next physical when he turns 50 if he can get past the fear of a prostate exam.  He tells me he will need a female physician for that, preferably one with very small hands.  I wonder why the doctor insisted on testing my cholesterol at 35, but told my husband he doesn’t need to be tested now.  Looking like a boy-toy may not work to his advantage in the health arena.

Ten days into his 5^th decade my husband has not changed much, although like most women I wonder what is going on in his head while he is staring off into space.  Is
he now considering politics, the economy, or perhaps the Christmas symphony that I
told him about?  His wet towel on the bedroom doorknob tells me that at heart he is still the 23-year-old Marine that revved up my libido all those years ago and is likely thinking about microbrews, football, or and sex.