This week, the benevolent C revealed to me that she has taken a younger lover. She is 44. He is 26. She told me that he guessed her age to be 30. I suspect her pants came off by the time he reached the second syllable of thir-ty. I mean, really, whose wouldn't? He is either a little clueless or very, very clever. We celebrated the fact that she is now officially a cougar, though she said she would rather be a MILF (as if there is more dignity in that). I had to remind her that she has no children. She decided she's happy with cougar because with her karma she knows her children would have two heads, possibly more. I suspect that with our fetus-in-fetu fascination, she might be right. Then in the next breath, she told me that she has been having horrible gas- the kind that peels paint. I had to ask her to remind me why she's been single for so long.