Letter to a Twenty-One-Year-Old Slut

This is a letter I wish someone had written to me when I was twenty-one. I didn’t do everything mentioned in this letter (I’ll leave you guessing about which ones I did or didn’t do). However I did at least witness each and every thing you are about to read. And by the way, I chose age twenty-one because I didn’t want to badger regarding illegal drinking on top of everything else.

Okay. So here it is. A letter. To a twenty-one-year-old slut.

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Dear Twenty-One-Year-Old-Slut,

Don’t get your panties all in a wad; I’m not saying that you’re literally a prostitute, like hookin’ on the corner and taking actual money in exchange for actual sex. I’m just sayin’ – you’re… kind of slutty. I know, I know – you want to look your best, and when you wear the miniskirt that shows your hoo-ha when you ‘accidentally’ bend over too far, way more guys notice you. Like, totally, I get it. I’m sure one of those guys is going to fall in love with you in like, five minutes. Come on now, I know you’re not that stupid; people can’t fall in love in five minutes! That’s just silly. Obviously the plan is to lure him in with your unparalleled powers of seduction, then make him fall in love with your sparkling personality and razor-sharp wit. He’ll be like “Dear God, it’s a miracle! I’ve found the perfect girl! She’s hot and sexy, can do the booty-hop like no other, and yet… she’s also a scintillating conversationalist! I’m in love…”

It could happen, I guess. I saw Pretty Woman. And that fairytale might unfold for you accept for one big caveat: You have no personality! I don’t know you really, so I concede that it’s entirely possible that you have more depth and charisma than a cardboard box filled with dead fish. But it’s unlikely. Which is why I’m writing this letter to you, you’re welcome. Now read carefully:

First of all, you wear so much makeup that you and the short chick from Jersey Shore could totally be twinsies. How long does it take to pull off that disguise? I’m thinking upwards of two hours? Just estimating, because I’m not a slut anymore, but I admit I dabbled in my college years, so I do have some inkling of what it takes to install false eyelashes. Those things are a bitch to put on. So you’re not fooling anybody into thinking you rolled out of bed looking like that. Anyway the point is, the time you spend each day cementing your face in bronzer, well, you could’ve spent that time working on your ‘personality.’ Not to mention it’s unfair to the guy who will eventually fall in love with you (once you follow my advice) to make him think you look a certain way, when someday he IS going to have to see you without any makeup! If he wouldn’t recognize you without your makeup on, that is a sign that YOU ARE WEARING TOO MUCH.

Speaking of ‘wearing’ things: You need to wear some more damn clothes! After I was married (of course, after), I had this great epiphany one night when my husband and I were at a bar playing pool and drinking beer with friends. I was wearing a white long-sleeve turtleneck and jeans. Way different than what I used to wear when I was a slut on the prowl for a hot guy. So I went to buy a pitcher of beer, not even noticing this nice-looking guy who was sitting at the bar, until he turned to me and said, “Wow, you are beautiful!” with this sweet awe in his voice that was so sincere I got warm fuzzies (‘by golly, I still got it!’) – Especially taking into account my decidedly ‘unsexy’ attire. I thought ‘Dude, what are you looking at?’ And then it hit me: He was looking at my face!!! Like, instead of my ass or boobs! Wow! Epiphany!

Okay, well, then he saw my wedding rings and catapulted himself away from me faster than if I had flicked a booger at him. But you get what I’m saying, right? Cover up your girly parts so that these poor guys have some chance in hell of yanking their eyes away from your no-no’s and actually taking a gander at your peep-holes, the windows to your soul. Where your personality supposedly lies.

Another place that’s sucking away your personality: The cage. For Pete’s sake, get out of the damn cage. Don’t play clueless, you know the one: The one at the club, where you bump and grind with your girlfriends even though you’re not even remotely lesbo. But dehr, hello, guys love it when girls make out! It’s obviously the best way to get their attention! Well here’s the other thing you haven’t figured out yet: A guy wanting to lay pipe with you has zero, I repeat for emphasis: ZERO correlation with wanting to bring you home to meet his momma. So quit wasting your time trying to lure him in with your hot tamales. He’s only going to buy what you’re selling, and luckily for him, you’ve marked down the product 100% off! And you know what’s the easiest stuff to throw away, right? (The stuff you got for free…)

Speaking of sex, stop saying it’s ‘just sex,’ and acting like it’s no big deal. You’re lying to yourself and everyone who hears you say it. This isn’t Sex and the City, and you’re not Samantha. Thank God. One of her, even as a fictional character, was enough (but I would be a lying slut myself if I pretended I wasn’t a fan of Sex and the City).

Also, pretending that you just want the feeling of sex, that you actually enjoy anonymous sex, is the stupidest crap I’ve ever heard. Cosmo has propagated this lie for far too long, and it’s time to blow the lid off! That hottie in the club is NOT going to cause fireworks to shoot out of your crotch! Pay attention, honey, he’s drunk. Plus, he just met you. Why the hell would he care about how you feel? He’s going to take care of his own needs, then drool all over your favorite pillow and maybe stain the afghan that your granny knitted for you when you were a baby. Or he’ll just sneak out in the wee hours, which is probably the lesser of the two evils, after he’s shat all over your dignity. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying everybody should wait until marriage to have sex (that would be really fucking hypocritical of me). But just please don’t try to fool yourself into thinking that sex doesn’t mean anything.

Speaking of drunken escapades, as if you weren’t already slutty enough, for the love of All Things Holy don’t magnify the fact by getting plastered! You know that sexy move you do at 1:59 a.m. with the guy who’s been dry-humping you all night, the one where you give him that droopy, teasing, Paris Hilton look and then ask him if he knows where the ‘after party’ is? Well you’re not pulling off Paris Hilton (unless you’re talking about the drunk version of Paris Hilton, who is just as much a hot sloppy mess as drunk you); no, you’re looking more like someone who’s in the process of suffering a stroke. But here’s how your brand-new boyfriend sees it: “I’m horny, she’s easy, let’s do this.” Pay attention closely – he’ll probably even do a quick survey of the room to see if there are any other girls he flirted with that night who might be even easier than you are, if such a thing were possible.

And by the way, that walk of shame in the morning is never going to feel less degrading. It will always be hollow, lonely, and humiliating – even though his lack of long-term interest has nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with you, your level of attractiveness, or anything to do with your personality, which we’ve already established is severely lacking. (And by the way there’s no way to pull off attractive when you’re returning home barefoot with crumpled clothes and Alice Cooper eyes thanks to the 3:00 a.m. drunk-cry wherein you blubberingly blamed your whorish shenanigans on the time you were molested by your uncle, and made your brand-new boyfriend wonder whether or not it would be appropriate for him to put down his chimichanga and give you a reassuring hug.)

So get to work! The foregoing was generally a list of ‘don’ts’, so here are a few ‘dos,’ to help get you out of your slut-rut:

·         Read as much as possible, about every subject possible, from history, to politics, to sports. You gotta branch out from Perez Hilton. Reading will do wonders to enrich your personality. It’s okay, you don’t even have to pick up a book. Technology is amazing these days; there is simply no excuse for being an airhead! Kindle, lap-top, phone… take your pick! Just get out there and un-stupid yourself!

·         Exercise and eat right. Yeah I know, you work out at the gym two hours every day (except Saturday and Sunday because those are hangover-recovery days, dehr). But you’re only doing cardio and you eat nothing but ramen noodles and rice with soy sauce. Take care of yourself honey, and spend some of that martini money on some chicken and lettuce!

·         Be loyal to and take care of your family and loved ones. This will not only improve your personality, it will also help you avoid the guilt that will slam into you in a decade when you realize how hideously selfish it was to miss your grandpa’s funeral because you just ‘couldn’t deal’ and besides, it interfered with your rockin’ social life…

·         And finally, once you’ve pumped yourself full of knowledge, well-being, and good intentions, just be real. You don’t always have to say exactly what you’re thinking (that gets me in trouble sometimes; it’s not right for every situation), but definitely don’t ever say or do something just because you think it will make someone like you more, or because it seems ‘required’ for the situation. If you can’t say it truthfully, or do it with a clear conscience, just don’t! Be true to yourself.

Every ten years I look back and wish I knew then what I know now. I always feel that ‘back then’ I was so stupid. I’m sure in ten years I’ll be sending all this crap I’ve written to the recycle bin in a frenzy of humiliation. Hopefully someone ten years my senior will do me the favor of writing me a quick note to tell me what an idiot I am. Not that I’ll listen. I’m way too confident that I’m doing everything right! Don’t be like me. Listen to someone who knows! After all, I am happily married, and I actually like my husband, practically on a daily basis (what!?!?), and he is so accepting and forgiving that he loves me all the time and never nags me about my flaws, which are aplenty. And I met him after my slutty phase, so he got to know the Real Me, not the lost, pretentious, slutty version of me.

Not that you want to go out and get hitched; you’re too young for that anyway. You just need to set some rules and limitations for yourself. All this time you’re spending being a hoe, what with the makeup and the clothes and the endless late nights of debauchery, that time could be better spent… oh dammit, I’m so full of crap. Everything I just said sounds like so much fun and just makes me want to go back to my twenties and hoe it up! Er… well maybe not that last part.

Anyway what I’m really saying is, go out and have fun, but set some boundaries for God’s sake! Wear makeup, but not whore-levels of makeup. Dress fashionably, for fun; NOT as bait. Don’t make out with your girlfriends (unless you’re gay, it’s dishonest!). And don’t have sex with random people. Just don’t! It’s not pleasurable and it’s disgusting and unsanitary for so many other reasons besides the ones I mention here that are way out of the scope of this letter. Sleeping with strangers can be prevented by not getting totally sloshed. A few drinks, but take it easy there, sparky! You want to sleep on a fresh, dry pillow, and Granny’s afghan deserves a little more respect than that, don’t you think?