Y’all remember Auntie Em, my sweet cool punk rock friend, the one who's going to hell for assaulting a handicapped person? She called me last night to tell me the good news, that she’s probably getting married. She’s flying out to NZ next month (that’s friggin New Zealand!) to meet her intended, whom she met on MySpace.
She told me a little about this bloke, he sounds perfect for her. She said he’s got kind of a wild past. For instance, he shagged a midget, just for the novelty of it.
The two lovebirds had their first big fight last week. As always, Em had me squealing with laughter as she told me about it.
In the course of conversation, her kiwi fella happened to mention that there’s a limit to the amount of sexual experience he’d accept in a woman. Literally, there’s a specific number in his head—if she’s had any more sex partners in her past than this number, she’s just too slutty for him and he could never be in a relationship with her.
With some trepidation, she asked, “What number?”
“20”
Well she thought about it for a week. And then she bucked up and did the courageous thing.
“Uh, baby, you remember when you said...” and she went on to confess that at the age of 30, having been in a punk rock band in the Pacific Northwest, and being adventurous enough in her soul to travel halfway around the world to meet him—she’d certainly had more than 20 sex partners in her past. If this was a deal-breaker for him, she wanted him to know it now.
We discussed this at length—a very interesting question. Should she have told him? He had not specifically asked her how many she’d been with, she certainly could have simply never brought it up again and saved herself the drama. But, she decided, if her future husband considers her a slut based on the number of men she’d been with before she met him, then she wanted to know this and wanted him to know it as well. So she bravely went forth into the breach.
They had the whole preliminary, “Uh, so the number’s bigger than 20? How much bigger?” conversation, which progressed to the “Oh my god, you whore!” stage and culminated in him actually vomiting (with her on the phone) in total distress and repulsion. He hung up on her. And then called back 20 minutes later to apologize.
Em’s mother said, a man is very open-minded about a woman he doesn’t want to marry.
As she told me about their argument, I asked her, “What did you say?”
She said: “I said, ‘Excuse me! Fucked a midget!’ You exploited a little person! And you’re going to judge me?”
This had us rolling on the floor laughing for several minutes. We decided, this is her trump card. During any argument they may ever have, all she ever needs to do is say, “Fucked a midget!” and the argument is over.
Ladies, this is the secret to arguing with a man. Find your trump card and use it wisely.
