Are you a cougar?

Last night, on “30 Rock,” Tina Fey briefly dated a cute guy who was 17 years younger than her. On the show, her friend (played by Jane Krakowski) says to her: “What can we do? We’re cougars.”

Yuck.

Why is it that women who date younger men get branded as cats of prey, with sharp claws and pointy fangs? Meanwhile, big, hairy men in their 40s and 50s who chase coeds are considered to be heroes? From here on in, let’s refer to them as “grizzled bears.”

I don’t have a problem with women or men dating more virile partners. But the definition of a cougar is not just a lady with a yen for a young buck. She’s a woman who obsessively does Pilates and insists on proving it. She favors leopard print bustiers, skinny jeans and frosty lip gloss. She’s that divorced gal at the office holiday party who won’t get off Santa’s lap. In fact, she’s grinding against him.

Are you a cougar? If you live in Los Angeles, the likelihood of having cougar-like tendencies is significantly higher. God forbid you allow yourself to have one gray hair here. Or abandon “sexy” for “sophisticated.” I wince whenever I see a 50-plus woman with hair too blond, jeans too tight, and a face with nary a laugh line.

At the same time, I just turned 40 this year and I ain’t loving the aging process one bit. It’s harder to drop a few pounds and I suddenly hate my gums. Then again, I can now afford to order the most expensive entree on the menu and I can travel abroad. Plus, I have more confidence than ever. The tradeoff is tricky, but I prefer today to yesterday.

Honestly, am I a cougar? Sometimes. More gum than fang, alas.