I’ve been trying for months to get my best friend to write down some of her dating stories for my blog (or perhaps her own some day). A few titles we discussed include “That Time I Almost Slept With An Exotic Dancer,” “Signs That Your Hookup is Not Going Well,” and “An Open Letter to My Saintly Babysitter.” Despite her skill in teasing me with fun post titles, I wasn’t feeling very confident that I’d ever see a single one. Then last week, I received this: the story of cashing in her long-held V-card to some guy who delivers packages for a living (insert juvenile giggles here at the word “package”), a throwback to how it all began. I hope I can persuade her to one day compile her stories into a blog because she has some good ones, but until then, you’ll find them here whenever she feels like sending them my way. I hope you enjoy…
All about that time 30-year-old me lost my virginity to the UPS guy
Yes, you read that correctly. I lost my virginity to the UPS guy. As a 30-year-old, single mother. To my friends that know me well, this is not at all shocking. I like to do hard things out of the “correct” order. It suits my contrary and stubborn nature while at the same time protecting my bleeding heart squishy insides. I remained a virgin until the age of 30 by choice (and some misguided religious conviction). I wanted to be with the person I married. I also managed to surround myself in layers of man repellant by being standoffish and adopting a baby as a single woman. Hormones being what they are, this situation was not sustainable.
Enter the UPS guy. We met via the internet (or course), then in person for dinner. He was late, nervous, chatty, adorable, and HOT. I’d never encountered someone with such irresistible pheromones, not to mention the trashy romance novel checklist of muscles in all the right places. Our time “together” wasn’t magical. It hurt, and he compared my personal grooming situation to “an episode of National Geographic”. Strike one. Strike one and a half was when I found out he was a NASCAR fan. I tried really hard not to judge, but still. NASCAR.
I, of course, powered through, ignored the slight on my lady bits and invited this man into my personal life. I brought my baby to his house and made dinner for he and his equally hot UPS roommate. I went to family gatherings at his parents’ gated golf club. He had dinner with my parents. Funny aside: I wasn’t allowed into the gated community at first. The guards didn’t believe me when I said I’d been invited and had to call his parents to confirm that I was who I said I was. I mean, I was driving an older model truck, with a baby, dressed like a hippie. I get it. I laughed it off, charmed his parents, and was completely caught off guard when he was on FaceTime with his toddler daughter and “accidentally” showed his ex that he was with me and that I had a baby. Strike two.
Strike three occurred a few days after the FaceTime incident, in which he threw patio furniture off of the back deck in a fit of post-ex-argument rage. I scooped up my baby, tiptoed out of the house, and never looked back. Do I regret the loss of my virginity? No. My only regret is not sticking up for myself and setting better boundaries. I also miss his dog. He was really rad.
Take away lessons:
- Beware the irresistible pheromones. And fans of sports that aren’t really sports.
- Kids don’t get involved. Ever. Or at least until many layers of trust and safety are established and lots of time has passed.
- Love me, love all of me, grooming or lack thereof included.
- You don’t have to wait for three strikes to call it.