So…cougars.

Two guys walk into a bar – their young, early twenties. It’s an older crowd, many of whom have had too much to drink and are girating with abandon on the dance floor. They haven’t had enough to drink yet to really ‘let loose’…so they ease into a couple of seats and nurse their drinks, enjoying the little band and exchanging snickers and sideways looks at each other. Someone’s mom stops dancing and walks over to them.

"I’m sorry, we’re sitting here."
They shrug. "That’s cool, no problem. We’ll get up when you’re done." Non-issue, right?
"No, you don’t understand. My purse is here."
"OH." Says guy one. Guy two leans in.
"Is it because he’s black?"

With the amount of horror and embarassment that would be expected, cougarlishious (who ends up being "married" to another guy there…weirdness, just weirdness.) The guys get up, relate the story to their pals, everyone has a good laugh and the moment passes. Or not.

The taller, brunette version of la cougar de jour comes over and taps Guy one on the shoulder.
"No, no," she says. "we have no problem with black people…my uncle’s black."

riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight….okee dokee, buh bye. Jokes…but at the same time, just damn depressing.