I'm horrendous at math. Beyond awful. Part of the reason S and I bonded years back when interning in NYC was because we discovered our mutual mathematical ineptitude. I mean, if you ask someone to add 543 and 9, would you really believe that they add 543+10 and then subtract one? True story though-- we both do it.
Why is is then that numbers and math become such an integral part of not only our every day lives--that's blatantly obvious--but our love lives?
Allow me to explain what I mean. The thought of numbers makes me cringe. I still occasionally wake up sweaty because of a dream about pre-calculus class. That said, I allow numbers to shape my perceptions of romantic experiences. To some degree we all allow this to happen.
Think back to the first time you were fresh into a relationship. Most people are curious about their partner's past experiences and one question really echoes in our minds incessantly: how many people has my partner slept with?
Funny but it seems that the actual number, regardless of whether or not we ever learn it, comes with certain implications. We wonder if he's slept with only one person in his life. In this situation, the number one could mean one of two things. (Like how I slipped a few extra numbers in there for you?) Either he's horrible in bed due to a lack of experience, or he actually learned a hell of a lot with the one girl he was with for months and even years.
We must also, though, consider the opposite end of the spectrum: the high numbers. Now I don't even have any figures to use here as examples, mainly because I'm pretty unsure of how far this scale slides. Maybe he's had five partners and we consider that a lot, or maybe he pulled a Tiger Woods and slept with hundreds.
Meanwhile, we also have to be mindful of our own habits. It's one thing to have had a little fun with a few people, but at what point do the numbers' meanings become hazy? When do we think to ourselves, alright, that's enough, I better clean up my act or I'm really going to consider myself trashy?
It's in some of these situations, at least for me, where numbers represent the end-all-be-all. I mean, there are exceptions to every rule, like maybe you slept your way through your college degree and suddenly found God and have become a born-again virgin. Could happen, who knows. But, in general, it seems like at least for us ladies, we remember our "number"-- almost in the way that I remember that big, fat 55% on my fifth grade US History test. (OK so now you know that I can't do numbers OR US History.)
We let numbers dominate our actions-- is it OK or not acceptable at this point for me to be out on the prowl and allowing my number to slowly increase? He's slept with five women in the past two months, is it OK for me to be the sixth?
Maybe we've attached an unnecessary stigma to the high numbers. Likewise, it's possible we innately keep good mental records of our sexual habits via statistics if for nothing more than our own health and well-being. But no matter how much we hate adding and subtracting and dividing and multiplying them, numbers have permeated our minds, influenced our actions and, on occasion, tempered our behavior.
xoxox,
R.
PS: A quick Google search led me to this article. Although perhaps slightly outdated, I thought you might enjoy: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/19374216
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