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So I was Wrong

I thought that my rather sex-less blog about sex would generate a hundred or so different emails scorning me and complaining. I was half expecting somebody to email me telling me something along the lines of, “300 years ago, they’d have burned you at the stake!” But I was wrong.

I’m sort of happy I was wrong. I’m a bit surprised but sort of happy that the complaining didn’t reach all time record highs. I’m rather stumped that, when I forget to blog, I get more complaints then I when I “tease” you about my sex life and don’t follow through. I suppose I should expect it though. I mean, those who know me, and most of you do in a way, seeing as you read this blog, know that I’m more of a romantic at heart than a sex-crazed maniac (even though I suppose the blog doesn’t always reflect that.)

And speaking of romance, I was chatting with some women friends this weekend. Casually chatting away with my fellow womenfolk when the subject turned to, ah, you guessed it, sex.

One of the women started veering us into this direction by talking up her new love interest. It seems she happened upon a friend of a friend at a coffee shop (or some such place) downtown and she thought they “hit it off.” But, alas, there was no hardcore “date” set up, even though the appropriate telephone numbers, mobile phone information, IM accounts, blogger, and possibly bodily fluids were exchanged.

“You should just call him up and GO FOR IT,” remarked one girl in the group. “I mean, why not?”

To which I replied, “no way. I don’t think you should call him. I would *never* call a guy. Let him make the first move.”

“That’s all the more reason to call him,” somebody else said, “I mean, just look at HER. She even admits she’s a professional spinster. You don’t want to end up like HER, do you?”

I was expecting the poor lady to suddenly scramble for the nearest mobile device in an attempt to “reach out and touch somebody” quickly before her biological clockface exploded or something. What was really interesting to me though was the ensuing conversation. The talk turned to being “old fashioned.”

I guess it’s true and it’s something I have to admit. I’m old fashioned. I think it’s rather odd, seeing as most folks who meet me would probably not describe me as being “old fashioned.” I’ve even been called things like, “too open” and “too modern” which I can live with. But, in my black heart of hearts, in my deep dark center, in my most intimate core, I am indeed somebody I would call “old fashioned.” Not that I’m happy with that but that’s how I am. If the shoe fits and all.

I like it when guys hold doors open for me. I like men who behave themselves (or at least pretend to.) I don’t go out to lunch with my closest circle of friends, drink martinis and talk about sex, like the chicks on Sex in the City. I never call a guy for a date, I let him do the talking. I’m perfectly happy letting the male of the species make the first move. Sorry if I’ve shattered your myths of me being some secret sexual agressor, who chews men up, spits them out, sips martinis and contemplates my next of prey. That just isn’t me. Boring I know, but that’s just my nature.

So I suppose I’m really not all that surprised I didn’t get seven tons of hate mail about my sexless blog. Maybe next week, when I forget to blog, you’ll start harrassing me.

Until next time, this is Carol, the Carol in “Carol’s Little World” signing off.


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