My Virginity

Dear Virginity,

We’ve known each other for a really long time. You were there when I entered the world. You protected me from the leering eyes of boys in kindergarten. You even saw me through Catholic school. I know a lot of girls’ virginities didn’t hold their hands that long.

When I went to prom, you turned a blind eye but you stuck with me despite all risks. And in college, I had you to thank for never getting my scholarship revoked, or my ass on a one-way bus back to East Bumblefuck. Remember that time I was dating Brian? I know your and my relationship was rocky there, but we pulled through, didn’t we?

It’s been a long road we’ve shared. Thank God you held my hand the entire fucking way, because without that hand, I’d REALLY be hard up.

Ahem.

What I’m trying to say, viriginity, is that despite our good run, it’s over. I’m 28. I’m ready to live independently. And the first step is for you to leave.

No, really, fucking leave. I can’t stand you anymore. You’re baggage and I want you out of here. In fact, anyone who would like to buy my viriginity from me should … what? you don’t want to be bought? Then maybe next time, on the next date, you could find a way to not be brought up. You could make yourself scarce. Turn two blind eyes. Because we just can’t go on like this. It’s not you. It’s me.

Oh fuck it. It is you.

Just go away. Please, please, go away.