When I Gave You My Virginity, I Didn’t Think You’d Put It In the Same Box As Your Childhood Teeth

Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. What are we going to do with you?

Thanks for meeting me for coffee! I’m so, so glad to hear that you’re doing well, and congrats on that promotion! I actually wanted to meet up because one of our mutual friends told me something super disturbing during our virtual happy hour last Friday, and I think it needs to be addressed.

We dated a long time ago. I mean, a long time ago. We might have been over the age of consent in our state, but we were just kids, trying to find our way in the world. You still had that Justin Bieber haircut and I still thought I was socially liberal and financially conservative. What I’m getting at here is that a lot of time has passed, and I know we have both changed.

We had a sweet relationship. You were the nicest first boyfriend a girl could ask for. You brought me coffee before class and taught me how to put air in my tires. In return, I gave you the most precious thing a girl has to offer: the eternal lotus flower of my immaculate virginity.

Our first time was romantic and simple. I gave you my virginity in the back of your stepmom’s 2011 Honda Civic in the parking lot of an abandoned Arby’s, underneath a lush blanket of Indiana stars. You came almost immediately, and then I went home and looked up what the heck had happened on the Internet. But we were young and in love, and most women don’t orgasm from vaginal penetration alone, anyway!

I gave you my virginity because I knew you were a good boy who I could trust. You’re so responsible, like how you always remember to floss and how you would tell me it was time to get my oil changed. Honestly, you taught me how to drive a car! I knew I wouldn’t regret giving you something so important, and I need you to know that I still don’t regret it.

I think it’s sweet that you’re nostalgic about our times together, and I’m not accusing you of anything like having feelings for me. But our friend Kelly told me that not only do you still have my virginity, but you keep it in the same box as your childhood teeth.

Hear me out. I can understand keeping it—I still have the corsages from prom, after all—but putting it with your baby teeth, and then setting it on your dresser, right next to your grandmother’s ashes? That’s a cry for help!

Ryan, you have a wife and kids. Please talk to me about what’s going on. Why are you holding onto it like that? It’s not like it increases in value over the years. God, I bet it even smells like using too much benzoyl peroxide and getting rejected from the University of Notre Dame.

The fact is that I lost my virginity to you, and now I need you to lose my virginity. And I mean lose it. Go into the woods and pack it in the soil. Take it on vacation and scatter it in the sea. Run out to your garbage can and throw it in at the last minute on garbage pick up day. I do not care. I can give you something just as valuable and less totally unnerving, like a timeshare in the Florida Keys that I will totally split with you at market cost. Really, anything to get your mind off of it!

Please, stop crying. I’m a grown-ass woman now. I know about stocks. I grow my own cilantro. The bottom line is that I can’t have people finding out that my literal virginity is in your house.

Well, I’m glad we’ve had this talk. One last thing—please do throw out the entire box. You don’t need your childhood teeth, dude. That shit is creepy as hell.