Cocktail Party - from Grumblings of a Chronically Single Woman by Randi M Sherman, Author of Paula Takes a Risk, Available 2012

Cocktail Party 

When I arrived at my friend’s holiday cocktail party, I looked around the room and realized that other than the hostess, Margaret, there was not a recognizable face in the crowd.  I glanced around to take stock of fashion sense in the room and then at the mirror to check my outfit.  I realized that once again, I had made the incorrect outfit selection.  It doesn’t matter how much planning I do, I have an inexplicable talent of choosing the most inappropriate apparel for any occasion.

If I were asked to select a word that best describes my appearance, I would say pleasant. Although, my looks do not stimulate one’s gag reflexes, I have not been presented any awards for my outstanding beauty and poise.  It is inevitable, there is always at least one woman at each party who has the ability to turn the heads of all of the men and generate instant jealousy from all of the women in the room.  She is tall and proud and magnetic.  She smolders.  I would describe myself as the semi-attractive woman who is standing just behind her…holding the coats.

So there I stood, in the foyer.  I had a choice to make. I could muster up some faux-party-confidence and begin to mingle.  I could attempt to blend in with the décor, sip a drink and hope that a party guest would happen by and engage me in a conversation.  I could plant myself near the buffet table and force people to speak with me, or at least say “excuse me,” if they want to get close to the food.  Or I could attach myself to Margaret, the hostess, who is, required by the law-of-hosting and etiquette to talk to me, or introduce me into another conversation.

While making my decision, a severe looking woman dressed in all black and who looked like she just stepped away from the Chanel make-up counter at Macy’s, walked up to me and introduced herself as Victoria, “Don’t call me Vicky,” she commanded.  “My name is Victoria.” 

Whatever you say, Vicky, I thought. 

Victoria was obviously killing time with me until someone more stylish was free for conversation.  Victoria sipped her martini and lied to me.  Yes, lied.  I could tell.  If I had had a calculator with me and had added up all of things that she said she had accomplished, Victoria would have to be about one hundred and seventy years old.  Obviously, Victoria was not privy to the two basic rules of lying to someone at a cocktail party. First, if you choose to lie, make sure there is a recovery, if challenged.  “Really, Victoria, tell me more about water skiing on the Dead Sea.  I thought it was a sacred place and that speedboats were not allowed there. Who did you get a permit from?”  Second, lie to the party-drunk or to someone who is not really listening, and most likely, will not remember anything about the conversation.

When Victoria walked away from me, I joined a small group of people who were politely listening to a man named Neil as he droned on about his “fabulous” career, his incredible office, his importance, and his plans for advancement “in the firm.”  No one in the circle seemed interested in what he was saying, but they didn’t want to appear rude and walk away.  So we all stood there, helplessly and listened. He was so boring that he should have been forced to wear a warning label.  Caution: Use of his man may cause drowsiness.

My eyes began to water when I strained to keep my mouth closed while stifling a yawn.  I was tempted to grab Neil by the shoulders, shake him and holler, “No one in this room finds anything at all fascinating about you or your work.  Unless you could promise someone a high paying position, that requires minimal work and travel to exotic destinations along with an unlimited expense account, we don’t want to hear about it!  Get a hobby!”  But instead, I stood quietly, with the rest of the group, until he finished his verbal resume.

A few minutes later, Margaret motioned me over and asked me if I was enjoying myself.

I started to lie, “Oh yes … ”

She interrupted, “I want you to meet someone.  Come with me.” She motioned with her finger for me to follow her.

She then introduced me to a man named Michael.  He was also alone. He was handsome, intelligent and interesting … and spoken for.  About ten minutes into our conversation he announced, “I have a girlfriend who is out-of-state.  But you and I could get together for coffee, or something.”  Then he added, “Fortunately, I don’t find you attractive so I don’t have to worry about getting myself into trouble.”

What?  Fortunately, he doesn’t find me attractive … Was that supposed to be a compliment?  Gee, I thought.  A girl can’t hear that too many times.

When I went outside for a breath of fresh air, I met Phil.  He seemed like a “regular guy.”   We spoke for a few moments.  He asked me if I was dating anyone.  I told him that I wasn’t and asked about his situation.  He told me that he was single.

He started, “My last girlfriend was a model … ”  

I stopped him right there.  I had to know.  “Tell me, Phil,” I asked, “Why is it that every man I meet used to date a model?  How many models could be out there?”  I could never understand why a man would tell a woman about how beautiful his past girlfriends were. Although men may find this information to be fascinating and impressive, women can live a lifetime without hearing it.

I wandered into the kitchen to catch my breath and plan my escape. I looked at my watch.  Damn, it was too early to leave.  The caterers looked at me with a knowing-look that said, “Sit down, and have a cup of coffee.”

            As I sat there in the kitchen, a few other party-goers drifted in.  Some of the sat down.  Others leaned against the counters, had some coffee, and picked at the desert trays.  Before I knew it, the entire party had moved into the kitchen area. 

Over all, it had been a lovely party.  The food was delicious and guest were very nice but I was ready to leave.

Michael waved over the crowd toward Margaret and announced, “Well, I have to be on my way.  I have to catch a plane in the morning.” 

That was my opportunity,  “Michael, would you mind walking me to my car?”  My question was two-fold.  It not only gave Margaret the illusion that Michael and I had hit-it-off, it also was my chance to cut out of the party.

            Margaret smiled, “Thanks for coming.”  As she hugged my good-bye, she whispered, “Call me tomorrow.  I want to hear everything.”

“Oh, Margaret,” I said and winked,  “nothing is going to happen.  If anything, we’ll probably just go for a cup of coffee.” 

CBD (Compulsive Blind Dating) - from Grumblings...by Randi M SHerman, the author of Paula Takes a Risk, Available March 2012

I Suffer from CBD (Compulsive Blind Dating) 

I’m a compulsive blind dater.  It all started out innocent enough.  You’ve heard it all before.  I was so naïve.  I thought, “What harm could one dinner date do?”  I was certain that I could trust my friends.  After all, would they get me involved with something so potentially damaging?  The first time I was nervous, excited, anxious and frightened, all at the same time.  My friends urged me, “Everyone does it.” They assured me that it was safe and that doing it just once could not be addictive.

I made it though the first time and figured, “No damage done.”  I had decided that I wasn’t going to seek it out but if the opportunity presents itself again, may be I’d try again.  The next thing you know, my friends were approaching me with more and more blind dating opportunities.  Perhaps I appeared vulnerable.  I started to take them up on their offers.  I thought that I was in control of the situation.  I could stop dating anytime I wanted to.   All I had to do was just say no.

It started with just an occasional blind date on a Saturday evening.  But before I knew it, I’d have blind dates booked on both Fridays and Saturdays.  Eventually the activity bled into Sundays and weeknights.  It was a whirlwind.  I was so caught up in the activity that I convinced myself that I was enjoying it.

When my friends started to set me up with the same men for a second time, I realized that it was beginning to spin out of control.  Before I knew it, I had run through their entire supply.  My friends could not keep up with the demand.  They began feeling pressured and avoided the subject of blind dating altogether. 

As the supply dwindled, I became more and more obsessed, almost desperate.  I began calling on co-workers and other acquaintances who I scarcely knew, hoping that they could set me up with a blind date. I’d strike up conversations in grocery check-out lines and hair salons.  I had a whole routine worked out.  I’d mention how difficult it was to meet nice men and that an introduction was the only way to go.  I was hoping that someone would offer up a son or a nephew.  But I was obvious, too obvious. They were onto me.  Mine was an old scam.

By this time, I was desperate.  It made little difference whether it was a lunch date, dinner date, drinks, coffee or just a walk in the park.  It didn’t matter to me.  I needed a fix.

I started to forsake friendships and responsibilities.  I’d turn down opportunities to see true friends on the weekends, hoping for a dating opportunity.  It was as if, I didn’t care about anything any more.  I stopped taking showers for fear that the telephone would ring.  I stayed home from work to practice being spontaneous.  “Oh, a blind date?  I usually don’t … but if you are recommending him … I guess I’ll meet him.  But, I’m not promising anything.”  I started frequenting places where I could strike up a conversation with a-friend-of-a-friend.  Next thing I knew, I was selling my belongings to buy new date outfits.

My family and friends questioned my values and tried to intervene but I saw it only as criticism and jealousy.  What a fool I was.  I had lost track of my friends, my priorities and my self-respect.

I realized that I had finally hit bottom when the people I once loved spotted me out on a blind date with a Star Trek fanatic. I had been so focused on the dating high that I hadn’t noticed that he was wearing a University of Romulac T-shirt and Spock ears.  Up until that moment, I had not realized how low I had sunk.  It was time to seek help.

Fortunately, I have people who love me and that is the reason why I am here today, telling you my story.  Perhaps my story will keep, just one young girl, from accepting that first blind date and spiraling into a life of dating-hell.  Then I have done my job.

Can you just say no? - From Grumblings of a Chronically Single Woman, by Randi M Sherman, the author of Paula Takes a Risk, Available March 2012

Can you just say no?

Most single people involved in the dating scene are familiar with the anxiety that is involved when turning down a date.  Let’s say that you are not interested in dating a particular person.  The phase, “No, thank you” should be sufficient.  But, unfortunately, we feel compelled to attach a reason.  At the first sign of rejection, no matter how benign, the ego kicks in and activates the question “Why not?”  Once put on the spot, most of us choose to lie.  Ideally, it would be a wonderful world if we could turn down dates without having to sugar coat our excuses, without recourse.  “I don’t want to go out with you because your looks are repellant and your personality could be used as birth control”, or “I’d have to kill myself if any of my friends saw us on a date.”  Both refusals are strong, to the point and effective.  Unfortunately, they are also unnecessarily cruel. Let’s face it, it’s difficult to come up with a reason to tell the truth if it is going to hurt someone’s feelings, especially if you plan to call on them in an emergency-escort situation.

If the excuse seems unbelievable, take the hint.  Accept it for what it is.  It is a coward’s attempt at saying, “I don’t want to go.”  If I turn down a date and go to the trouble of fabricating a ridiculous excuse, respect the effort and leave it at that. If I refuse a date for Friday because I have to study for a urine test, do not ask me out for Saturday.

Wouldn’t it be great if there was a list of surefire responses to dissuade, even the most persistent suitor from pursuing the date-issue any further?  I have found that proper use of the following comments will ensure freedom from lengthy, torturous telephone conversations, or worse, miserable dating experiences.

·         My husband prefers that I don’t date.

·         Do you know what a hermaphrodite is?

·         Would you mind if my parole officer tags along?

·         I can’t go because my parents grounded me.

·         I’m moving out of the country tomorrow.

·         I’m glad you called.  Did I leave my penicillin in your car?

·         I can’t go with you on Friday. I’m going through the final phase of my sex change that day and I’ll probably be groggy.  How about Saturday?

·         I’m sorry it took so long for me to answer the phone, I was in a psychotic rage.

·         I have a fear of restaurants and have a tendency to scream uncontrollably in public places.

·         Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight. I just killed a cat with my car and I couldn’t possibly eat the whole thing by myself.

·         I’d love to go out with you on Saturday, but I’ll be on my honeymoon.

·         I’m having a Caesarian section that day.

·         Did I mention that I’m incontinent?

·         That’s fine but the Reverend Mother insisted that I be back at the convent by ten.

·         Would you mind if I brought a gun?

 

Stood up - by Randi M Sherman, author of Paula Takes a Risk, Available March 2012

Stood-up 

Let’s face it.  Being stood-up is a humiliating experience.  There are basically two types of the “stand-up.”  Private and Public.  The Private “stand-up” is the slightly less humiliating of the two, in that, it usually happens in at home where there is not an audience present to witness it.  The Public “stand-up”, on the other hand, occurs in a public gathering place such as a restaurant or bar where multiple people can pity you as you look at your watch for the hundredth time and glance at the door every time it opens.  In either form, the victim does not necessarily deserve the treatment.  There is nothing unusual or distinguishing about the stand-up victim.  She can be placed anywhere on the scale from drop dead gorgeous to can’t-believe-it-look-again ugly.  She can be brilliant or braindead.  No matter who she is, once she has been “stood up” she will experience the five stages of being “stood up”: Denial, Anger, Despair, Acceptance and Revenge.

Denial

When he doesn’t materialize at the designated time and place, the victim will, first, give him the benefit of the doubt. She will rationalize the situation.  Perhaps he’s having car trouble, parking problems, or stopped to buy flowers.  Perhaps he’s been in an accident and is lying in an emergency room somewhere. She waits patiently, taking care not to wrinkle her date outfit. Perhaps she’s have a glass of wine or two … or five to create the illusion that she had intended to be in that place at that time, alone. She may even call home to check the answer machine. 

After rationalizing all of the possible scenarios, self-doubt sets in.  She wracks her brain.  Perhaps she misunderstood the arrangement.  Is this the right night?  The right place?  More importantly, she focuses her energy on trying to not look pathetic.  After an hour of “I’ll give him just five more minutes,” her denial turns to anger.

Anger

Once she concedes to the fact that the guy is just not going to show, anger sets in.  So, where the hell is he anyway? He had better be lying in a ditch somewhere.  Did this moron ever have the intention to show up?  But wait, is it his fault?  She searches for someone to blame.  What about the so-called friend who arranged this set-up?  She begins planning the torture to be inflicted upon the matchmaker.  Someone must pay for this humiliation!

Despair

When she catches herself seething, she realizes that this is wasted energy and thoughts of self-loathing set in. I’m a loser.  My selection criteria and process is so pathetic that I set myself up for disappointment.  Why couldn’t I see this coming?  No one wants to go out with me anyhow.  I just know that a support group has been formed for the men who need to take twelve steps beyond the experience.  They’re meeting in a church basement right now.

Then the sinking feeling in her stomach sets in.  “Oh no, what am I going to tell my friends now?  Especially now that I have spent the past week telling them how excited I was about this date.”  “I told them that he was crazy about me.”  At that moment, the stand-up victim must decide if she will tell her co-workers the truth or fabricate an elaborate lie about a fictitious date.

Acceptance

She’ll eventually concede to the fact that the date was just not meant to be.  Things could be worse.  After all, she could be sitting there a bouquet of balloons for the man who never showed.  Instead, she could just go home or order another glass of wine and start flirting with the man at the end of the bar or call a good friend to come and meet her.  They could sit there and laugh at the potential punishment she could inflict on the offender.  Revenge is a sweet thought.

Revenge

Revenge is one side of a very thin line.  She doesn’t want to appear psychotic. She will spend time thinking about of the perfect soap-opera-esque thing to say if the opportunity ever presented itself.  She’ll fantasize about delivering the one or two phrases that will leave him wounded and provoke an immediate change in his behavior.

She may choose to call and leave cryptic messages on his answer machine, perhaps demand an explanation. Depending on his level of popularity and her level of outrage, she might make an effort to ruin his reputation.  Unfortunately, most revenge efforts only result in her looking foolish and bitter. But someone must pay! So she calls the friend who arranged the set-up and threatens to submit an invoice for the cost of the date-outfit, the mileage and time.

So another evening bit the dust.  There would be other men, other self- doubts and other dating opportunities.  A lesson has been learned and she would be a victim no more.  The next time, if there is one, she will demand a valuable personal item or an imprint of his credit card as insurance that her date will materialize or face severe monetary penalty.

Excuses, Excuses - by Randi Sherman, the author of Paula Takes a Risk, Available March 2012

Excuses, Excuses

It has been said a million times.  “Office romances are a no win proposition.”  I should have listened.  Jonathan and I started out as just co-workers.  During our long hours of working together we shared a many intimate details about our lives and grew to be friends.  Before long, our friendship blossomed into a dating relationship.

Over time, I realized that Jonathan had a lot of personal baggage.  He reported that although his marriage had ended amicably, his ex-wife was still very dependant upon him and demanding of his time.  As a result, he spent a lot of time with her. He was always short on money because of alimony payments and the cost of upkeep on the house that he had once shared with her.  I was growing weary of his complaining.  But, I knew that he was vulnerable, so I tried to overlook his whining.

Jonathan would often show up late for our dates and offered no excuses.  I didn’t press the issue.  But when he stood me up one weekend and had not bothered to call to cancel or apologize, my patience ended.  I had called his apartment to find out what had happened.  He wasn’t there so I left a message for him to return my call.  I never heard from him.  I knew that I was going to see him at work on Monday, so I spent the rest of the weekend vacillating between the emotions of pre-menstrual paranoia and seething.

When I did calm down, I thought about how to handle the situation.  This had to be done delicately. After all, we did work together everyday.  I didn’t want to make waves. 

On Monday morning when I got to work, I went on a manhunt.  I was looking for Jonathan.  When I entered the coffee room and saw him, he made up some excuse and left the room.  He was avoiding me.  So, I did what anyone would do.  I followed him.

When I cornered him in his cubicle I asked,  “What happened to you on Saturday night?  I waited for you and when you didn’t show up for our date, I called your apartment.  Why didn’t you return my call?  I was worried.”

Jonathan knew that the confrontation was inevitable.  He had his explanation prepared.  It was apparent that he had rehearsed his story.  “Oh, what a weekend.”  He started.  “It was terrible. My ex-wife called and had an emergency at the house. I had no choice.  I had to go.  I thought that I’d be able to make it for our date but then when I went out to my car, the battery was dead.  I couldn’t afford a cab…you know because alimony payments.  So I had to spend the night at the house with my ex-wife.”  He stopped for a moment and looked out of the corner of his eye to see if I was buying his excuse.

As he was talking, I noticed that he had some strange bruising on his neck.  Had the ex-wife attacked him?  No!  It was a hickey.  “Go on.” I urged.  I was curious as to how far he would go with the story.

“Uh.…”  He thought for a moment.  “When I finally got home, I was exhausted and it was too late to call you.”

“Isn’t there a telephone at your ex-wife’s house?” A direct, yet, innocent question.

“Well…” he stalled.  “It was out of order.”  Then for good measure, he added,  “She didn’t pay the bill.”   He was finished.

What, that’s it? No apology? No begging for forgiveness? Was I supposed to feel sorry for him?

I had listened patiently.  He had listed all of his troubles and the unfair challenges that had been thrust into his life.   Frankly, I didn’t believe him.  He had offered too much information.  And the hickey was the capper.  While listening to his saga, I finally realized that Jonathan was still having a relationship with his ex-wife.

He looked at the expression on my face and sensed that I wasn’t buying his story.  Then he became indignant.  “I ask you, do I look like Superman?”  He barked.

“Superman?”  What? Where did that come from?

“Yes, Superman.  Do you think that I can take this constant pressure and just throw on a cape, fly around and fix everything.  Well I can’t!” He was on a roll.  “You’ll just have to understand and stop being so demanding of my time.”

Whoa!  Suddenly this is my fault?  I thought.  I don’t think so.

It was my turn.  Because I depended on him at work, I couldn't crush his ego or attack his character.  I would have to be delicate.  But two can play the game of analogy.

“Excuse me, Jonathan.” I started.  “May I ask you a question?”

He had worked himself up and was completely unprepared for a rebuttal.  “A question?  Sure.”  He never saw it coming.

“Over the past months, I have spent hours listening to you talk about you problems with your ex-wife, your house, your alimony payments, your lack of money, the demands on your time and the fact that your car is always in disrepair.”  I continued, “Since we’re using analogies, let me ask you this.”  I paused for effect, then continued.  “Do I look like a skycap to you?”

“What?” He was confused.  “A skycap?

 “Yes, a skycap.  Do I look like a skycap to you?” I waited for his answer.

Realizing that he has lost control of the situation he hesitated, and then answered.  “A skycap? No. You don’t look like a skycap.”

“Then, what makes you think that I’m interested in handling your baggage?” Ha! Take that!

He was not as impressed as I was with my analogy abilities.  “What are you saying?  Are you saying that all I do is complain?”

“No.  I’m saying that I don’t believe you and that you are trying to cover the truth with a lot of nonsense about your troubles.”

He was offended.  “Well if you don’t trust me then I don’t think that our relationship has a future.”  Satisfied with his performance, his face took on a smug expression.

“I couldn’t agree more.”  I stopped for a moment.  “By the way,” I pointed to his neck.  “You have a hickey.”  Touché.

Young at Heart - from Grumblings...by Randi M Sherman, author of Paula Takes a Risk, Available March 2012

Young at Heart

One day, while at work, the president of the company summoned me into her office.  I wondered what I had done wrong.  This couldn’t be good news.  She never fraternized with her employees.  If fact, the only reasons she spoke with us was to deliver a speech about tightening belts, or to reprimand or to trick someone into volunteering for an undesirable task.  I walked that last mile toward her office and my mind raced as I tried to recall what I might have done that would not have been considered, “company policy.”

When I arrived, her office door was open and she was involved in heated telephone conversation.  She spotted me, snapped her fingers, waved me in and motioned for me to close the door and sit down.  Minutes passed like hours as I waited for her call to end.  She hung up the phone and stood up. 

“I’ve noticed you,” she said. 

Knowing not to press the issue, I just smiled politely.  Then she came around to the front of the desk and leaned against it.  She crossed her arms, sized me up and made an effort to smile.  It looked as if it hurt. 

In a rather annoying rhetorical manner she got right to the point.  “You don’t have a boyfriend do you?” 

Huh?  I couldn’t imagine what this had to do with my job performance.  Then I realized that this was a social meeting

“I want you to meet a friend of mine,” she insisted.

 A friend of hers?  Did she have friends?  I had never given any thought to the fact that she would have any friends.  This had to be a test.  I wasn’t interested in meeting her friend, but I had to be diplomatic. After all, I did work for her. 

I smiled appreciatively and with a confident upward tilt to my head and a sing-song quality to my voice I said, “Thank you for thinking of me but I really don’t have the time to get date anyone right now.  Between work, classes and my, already active, social life, I hardly have enough time for myself.  Thanks anyway.”  I was sure that the content and delivery of this speech was Academy Award material.  But she didn’t buy it. 

She looked directly at me a said, “You’re lying to me.”  “My husband and I have a friend…” She dived right in.  “He was involved in a long-term relationship which has just ended, badly.”  She assured me that he was not necessarily looking for a romantic relationship.  “He’s a little gun shy right now.  He’s just looking for someone to go places with.  I want you to meet him.  He’ll be calling you later this week.” 

What could I say?  She was scary, I worked for her and she had already given him my telephone number.  Frankly, I was intimidated by her.

She stood up, walked around her desk, sat down in her executive style swivel chair and waved me off.  As I was about to open the door, she said, “Oh by the way, he’s somewhat older that you are but he’s young at heart.” 

I closed the door behind me and tried to evaluate what had just transpired.  What undesirable task was just assigned to me?  The information that she had provided was vague and general. There had to be a good reason for it and I was bound to find out why.

“Young at heart,” sure.  But, old at face and ancient at body.  The fact that this man merely had the will to live, did not make him young.  Breathing without the benefit of medical machinery, eating pudding without his teeth and first hand discussions regarding his recent prostate surgery were talents that were wasted on me.

He had been, recently dumped by a woman who he now referred to as “the bitch .”  According to him, she drained him monetarily and emotionally, then maliciously and without warning, cast him aside.  Over the past few months she had become demented and developed a number of serious emotional problems, none of which he had anything to do with.  “Funny,” I thought. “Why is it that she was perfectly normal when they met, and then, over the course of their relationship, developed psychotic tendencies?  Someone should do the math.”  Though advertised differently, he was on the rebound and desperately seeking a woman, on whom he could use his transference skills. 

The calendar of dating events included several telephone discussions about his misunderstood and abused qualities.  He kept telling me how wonderful, thoughtful and sensitive he was.  He called me too often.  He was possessive.  He was self-obsessed.  Anytime my attention would wane, he would exhale with a whimper. Shortly after he succeeded in thoroughly annoying me with his mosquito-like qualities, he informed me that I was getting too serious.  Then, as a finale, he announced that he needed “his space.”  All this, before I rode in his car.

The report of the “break-up” had reached the office before I did.  The boss called me into her office and this time she cast aside her prize winning interpersonal skills.  Slamming the office door behind her, she demanded to know what had happened.

 “Well,” I explained, “He’s a great guy, but I think he’s looking for a woman who can handle his past and will be satisfied with his somewhat limited future.”

Pre Sex Mental Checklist from Grumblings... By the Author of Paula Takes a Risck, Available March 2012

Pre-Sex Mental Checklist 

There are occasions when we just don’t know what the end of an evening is going to bring.  Dinner, then a movie, perhaps we holding hands as we walk down the main boulevard and window shop, or a glass of port wine or a cup of coffee in front of the fireplace and a goodnight kiss.  Perhaps the kiss will turn into a make-out session. The next thing you know, buttons are being unbuttoned, zippers are being unzipped, and hooks are no longer connected to eyes.  What happens next? I consider. But, I’m not prepared!  

Sex is great.  Spontaneity is great.  The combination of the two is exciting.  The problem with the “unplanned” is that there isn’t an opportunity to make the appropriate arrangements that are necessary to ensure ease of mind.  So, in a split second, almost subconsciously, I run through our pre-sex mental checklist to determine and hopefully eliminate any stumbling blocks that could effect the outcome of the impending sexual experience.

The Pre-Sex Mental Checklist can be divided into four categories: the essential checklist, body related issues, clothing related concerns, and emotional issues.

The Essential Pre-Sex Mental checklist

·         Who is supplying the birth control?  Is there enough?

·         When was my last menstrual period?

·         Did I shave my legs?

·         Do I have intestinal gas?

·         Do I know his name?  If not, will “Oh, baby” suffice?

Body Related Issues

·         Do my breasts disappear into my armpits when I lie on my back?

·         Do I have any tattoos, piercings, bruises or scars that will require explanation or result in disgust, laughter or pity?

·         When was my last bikini waxing appointment?

·         Are my toenails painted? Or are there just remnants of a pedicure that was done three weeks ago?

·         Do I have any band-aids on my body?

·         Do I have any embarrassing acne or break-outs?

·         Do my joints crackle?

·         Is my nose clean?

·         Is there anything in my teeth?

·         How’s my breath?

·         Do I get severe bed head?

Clothing Related Concerns

·         Do I have too much make-up on?  Will it rub off and ruin the pillowcase? 

·         Will he be frightened when he doesn’t recognize me in the morning?

·         Am I wearing sexy underwear?

·         Am I wearing that underwear?

·         Is my bra worn out, baggy or have wires that may cause injury?

·         Are my shoulder pads being held on by my bra-straps?

·         Am I wearing any clothing that is difficult to remove? (i.e.: pantyhose, tummy control garment)

·         Am I wearing any garments that have tight elastic that, when removed, will leave a red ring around my waist or under my breasts?

·         Am I wearing knee-hi stockings?

·         Am I wearing any jewelry that will cause scratching or choking?

 Emotional Issues

·         Will I stress out over my clothes wrinkling on the floor overnight?

·         Should I keep my jewelry on or is this an all-nighter?

·         Do either of us consider this to be a one night stand?

·         Do I want to see this man ever again?

·         If we are at my house, how do I get him to leave before morning?

·         Am I expecting any phone calls from other men, a member of the clergy, or my mother?

·         If I’m at his house, what excuse will I use to leave before daybreak?

·         What will I say if the sex is mediocre-to-bad?