he said She said

One night stand's burning question: slut or stud?

You shed your clothes, now you have to shed that sinking feeling you did something wrong ... or do you?

iStockphoto.com

You shed your clothes, now you have to shed that sinking feeling you did something wrong ... or do you? iStockphoto.com

She said

The Walk of Shame is quite a sight to see. More than a few Friday mornings before dawn, when I'm driving to the gym to teach my spin class, I see a guy or a young woman slinking away from the Madison at SoHo apartments toward their car.

They're wearing the previous night's hot outfit. The hair is disheveled. The face shows the shame, the thoughts of, "Why did I do that?" running through their hung-over brains.

The Walk makes me giggle, but it also makes me wonder: Why does it have to be a Walk of Shame? Why can't it be a Walk of Pride?

Pride as in, "Yep, that's right! I got some."

To be clear: I am not advocating frequent, random hookups. There are these things called STDs, after all. And there is this thing called self-respect.

But if a bachelor or bachelorette goes out, meets someone and the night goes really, really well, why does the morning-after have to be filled with shame and self-loathing?

Why not strut out of that apartment to your car, a smile on your face and a whistle on your lips? Let the world know your skills in that strange universe that is dating and "hunting" are stellar.

Strut like you've got game.

The Walk of Shame, to me, seems like a relic of the 1950s, when people preached "No Sex Before Marriage!" and "Rock and Roll is Evil!"

We're living in the now, the Sex and the City now.

So single ladies, if a hookup happens, you don't necessarily have to slink out the next morning in your Manolos.

You can do the catwalk walk. Proud, not ashamed. Just don't make this Walk of Pride too frequent. 'Cuz that's just slutty.

He said

Shannon! Right now somewhere up in the heavens, all the Irish and Italian Catholic saints are gasping for air as your Colavecchio antecedents plead, "No, really, she's a good girl! She doesn't mean that."

Allow me to sum this argument up in one word. It's called dignity, and apparently it's in short supply these days. Because it appears as if you're trying tell me that some sex is so meaningless it doesn't even garner a courtesy ride home in the morning?

Where are these classy gentlemen filing in from these days? The Andrew Dice Clay Finishing School of Schenectady?

You see, I'm thumbing through the David Norrie Dictionary here, and according to this, a woman walking down the main street of a city with high heels on as the sun comes up is often defined as a prostitute.

Two pieces of free advice to women: (1) If you don't have time to pack an overnight bag, you may want to weigh your instincts a bit, and (2) at least take a back street on that Walk of Shame. Not South Howard Avenue.

You know who benefits the most from this? The security staff who sits at the exit to my, or any other, condo. Surely, they enjoy these early morning walks more than anybody. If I were them, I'd make a little game of it called Let's Reconstruct Her Past Eight Hours.

And ladies, be careful. Inevitably, a scenario will play out in which Mr. and Mrs. Sanctimonious Smith are driving to get a wholesome breakfast Sunday morning — only to see their little Chastity pridefully walking the street in her club clothes.

Guess she wasn't sleeping at her girlfriend's house baking cookies, huh?

One night stand's burning question: slut or stud? 07/03/08 [Last modified: Friday, July 4, 2008 1:44pm]

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