Quite unexpected, I met up with a long time friend yesterday. I texted to ask her if she had plans of going to graduate school; then she called me. As per our ritual, after a lot of giggling, we decided to catch up on each other’s life and go on a friendly date to a local mall.
Amy is a virgin. That’s in the literal (biblical) sense and, this time, I am not being euphemistic. She is 33 years old and she describes her current status as “hopefully waiting”.
Amy: I am enjoying my career. It’s okay with me if you set me up with guys but I am not actively looking for one. If he’s there, he’s there. If not, then I’m still happy the way I am.
Me: So it’s okay with you if you die a virgin?
Amy: LOL, LMAO, ROFLMAO …
Me: I see.
Amy: I used to have a “just-in-case” guy?
Me: What’s that?
Amy: It’s a guy friend — completely platonic understand? — that you make a deal with in your early 20s that when the two of you turn 35 or something and still unattached, then you would marry each other.
Me: (excited and eager for more info, waiting with baited breath in front of the overpriced tiramisu) So what happened?
Amy: Robert is now in the US contemplating on marrying his lover.
Amy: His lover is a man.
Me: O … M … G
Amy: Do you know that girls have lost more men to homosexuality than to any other other major war?
(Disclaimer: Amy did not actually say that. It is my fictional contribution to this story. I lifted it from a novel by Gail Parent, “Sheila Levine is Dead and Living in New York”, a book about the travails of single girl who got tired of being single in New York; and because of that, was planning to commit suicide. The book was her suicide note. The book was published pre-Sex and the City.)
If you guys are wondering what Amy looks like, try imagining Emma Stone — but Asian, barely 5 foot in flats and with short curly hair.