Posts Tagged ‘wine’

Add 2 Parts Wine, 1 Part Slut

Saturday, September 19th, 2009

What makes a slut?

The definitions seem to be all over the place. Wearing a provocative outfit might put one in the slut category for some, and in the hot mama category for others. Putting out on the first date may seem a little trampy, but I almost married some guy who I schtooped on date #1.  Maybe shagging multiple partners seems a bit whoreish, but Abraham had at least three wives and he’s the reason we have Jews and Arabs so…

I do not want to have the now age old debate of why women are sluts but men are studs. Negative. Some women are sluts, but so are some men. And the reverse is true as well. Rather, what I seek to do is get people to stop asking each other how many people they’ve copulated with.

Why?  Many reasons. One, I think it’s rude. I don’t want to know how many folks you screwed before I came along; unless you knocked boots with my sister, my best friend, or my mom. No good ever comes from that question. Inevitably one of you has more experience than the other and no one likes to be one-upped.

Were you a good boyscout and came prepared? Excellent. Do you make any child support payments? Good to know. The questions we should ask our partners should be directly related to our health and potential future with them.  Do you have any diseases? Do you have any children? Do you have relations with animals? THIS is the important information, not the numbers game.

Recently one of my very good friends was called a slut.

By her boyfriend.

I think this is unsettling behavior from a man dating someone I adore, but it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t asked the numbers question. He liked the way she moved it until he found out just how she got so good at the game. And now a relationship that’s been happily moving along for several months is suddenly in jeopardy because he’s insecure and behaving like an asshole.

Word to the wise, men, don’t call your lady a whore. Even if she is.

To make her feel better I fed her multiple glasses of wine and sat down with a pen and paper to try and write down all the men we’d known in the biblical sense.  This could have backfired totally, I realize. But we somehow managed to remember everyone (we think), most of whom had first and last names.  And it didn’t make us feel slutty at all.

On the lists there were 4 men named Johnny. A Jim, one James, and one Jimmy. No dudes named Jeff. We’d lost (or never known) the names of Kitchen guy, Starbucks guy, Math guy, and Christmas guy. We both had Todds, Chucks, and men named Chris.

But more importantly we had some outrageous stories of the people we were, the people we are now, and the men who sowed wild oats with us along the way.