Many years ago, I went out on a second or third date with a nice enough guy. I don’t remember his name or what he looked like. But I clearly remember why there was no fourth date.
We got to that part of the conversation where you go back and forth about… whatever. It starts with simple biographical details: college majors, first jobs, recent vacations. Then you get to the juicy stuff. Why did your last relationship end? What’s nonnegotiable in a date for you? Once the booze starts hitting, the questions tend to get more intense. Favorite place to be kissed? How long do you wait before —
And then, he got carried away.
This man looked at me and fixed his lips to ask: “So, what’s your number? You know — your body count?”
I nearly choked on my pinot grigio. “What did you just say?”
He chuckled. “I guess your number is high if you don’t want to tell me.”
At first, I thought he was asking about boyfriends. I’d dated about 5 or 6 guys at that point in my life. What did he care? And then, I quickly understood. His question was actually more hideous and invasive than I originally thought. He wanted to know how many sexual partners I’d had.
“Why on earth would you ask me that?” I asked, working out half the bill in my head.