Psssh....Who wants to be a cougar anyway?

SO here I sit, one day into my "30's".
The hubs, who is a a few years my elder, was poking fun at my no longer being a "spring chicken".
It used to be that woman shared an unspoken anxiety about switching age boxes, but now we have much more to worry about...now it's all about jumping to a different animal.  I am no longer a spring chicken, I am a Cougar...hear me Roar!

But here's the thing....I don't really want to be a cougar.  I feel like there is some sex kitten connotation that goes along with representing that over grown smelly house cat.  When's the last time you were at the zoo and saw a cougar and said to yourself: "self...that's one smoking hot cat?" NO? Me neither.

Why can't I be something cooler? I am not that much for cats anyway.
I want to be something more alluring. More intriguing. More magical.
I want to be a Unicorn! A mystical Unicorn.
If it's about the sex appeal, come on let's face it, what's sexier than a silky white unicorn with it's long flowing locks dawning a giant falic symbol strapped to the front of it's face?  I mean really? There is no competition here.

That's it.  I proclaim myself a Unicorn.  You can keep your roaring cougars! I am a Unicorn....hear me shoot magic rainbows out my ass!