Lights are low, there’s a buzz in your blood and what the next person says to you is hilarious. You laugh and forget what it’s all actually about and suddenly feel like dancing.
Then you see a stranger enter the dance floor, his back straight as if to declare ‘here I am’ to everyone.
“That guy helped Dennis out,” a friend tells you, “with that exam he had to redo. Apparently they went out to celebrate after the test. He’s been with over 50 girls! Man, he’s my hero!”
You feel a prickling interest. 50 girls? How? What’s so special about this guy that he could get 50 girls to scooch out of their undies for him?
Different scenario, same description: lights low, buzz-blood, next-person-hilarity.
A woman enters the dance floor, hips swaying, hair everywhere. You’re breathless because she takes up the dancefloor – she owns that dance floor.
“Katrina brought her along, didn’t she?” one of your friends ask.
“Yeah. She’s been with like 50 guys. Kind of a slut. You can go for it, but watch out, don’t know where it’s been.”
Laugher. You peak at her, intrigued but also, in a strange, demure kind of way that you try to ignore, disgusted.
Why is there such a difference between men and women who have several partners?
I know, I know, you’re thinking “shut up, feminist, I’ve heard this before, I know where you’re going.”
But you don’t, so hear me out.
That guy who’s been with over 50 girls? Yeah. He is a champ. Good for him. That must’ve taken a lot of work – and if it didn’t, more power to ya’.
But why is a girl with the same score not as impressive?
The answer is simple: Continue reading