As I sat licking stamps for the last issue of the Cougar Club newsletter, the reality of the situation dawned on me. After 18 years of marriage, my husband was in love with another woman.

Part of it I could understand. She was younger than I (born in 1969); she was sleeker, with her shiny blue body, hood scoop, and spoiler; and she had more get-up-and-go with her 351-4V powerplant. What I couldn't understand was how he could love a lady with ELIMINATOR tattooed on both sides.

This wasn't my only problem. I was also competing with "Cougar Club Mania" which seemed to possess my husband. He had become a real zealot; chasing down any Cougar owner he found to spread the word about the club. I have been left sitting in his new love in 90 degree weather while he discused rust spots, engine condition, and the club with owners he met.

Some nights I had awakened to find my husband missing and found him at the typewriter typing club rosters, labels or writing to the staff about some ideas for the Cougar club.

I had even threatened to burn the want ads before he could see them. What was I to do? I continued to lick stamps, glanced at my hubby who was happily folding and stapling, and decided that I loved the guy enough to put up with all this foolishness. I looked at him and said "When we're through with these lets take a ride in the Cougar and get an ice cream cone". Then I remembered that the last time we did this, he got side-tracked when he spotted a prospective new club member, and I had never gotten to the ice cream shop. Oh well, it was worth another try.