"My Body Count Is Overwhelming Me"
According to my reality summer television viewing data, there are three types of people.
1. The person who thinks a woman’s body count should be zero to one.
The person who thinks a woman’s body count should be ten to fifteen.
The person who thinks—that’s none of my goddamn business. Infinity, I don’t care; I would never ask.
I recently had lunch with forty-four-year-old Gwen, who told me, “I’ve slept with three different men in the last five weeks. My Notes screen name list is full. My body count is overwhelming me.”
She got me thinking about my own body count and how I’d never considered it. ”If you don’t count, then don’t count.” She laughed. “I don’t need more, and, after realizing a few things, I’ve come to this decision because I know this is true.”
Of course, I went right home and counted. I sat on my bed and stared into my notes app, trying not to have every image of every person I’ve seen roll their eyes back into their head flash before my eyes. I wrote my list and felt no way about it other than that they were all great.
However, I was annoyed that I hadn’t asked Gwen what it was that she had realized that made her want to stop fucking new men.
How the hell does anyone know anything assuredly these days? And I decided to text Gwen at 11 p.m. last night to ask her,
”Why did you really stop fucking new men?”
And her logic is sound.