The Magic Number
We all have a special number. A fictitious number. A number we rehearse until we can roll it out in a natural and honest tone of voice when someone pops that question.
The dreaded question.
“How many people have you, erm, you know, been with?”
The trouble is, as soon as they ask all you can think is, “oh my god, they want to know how many people I’ve shagged” and the number you had tucked away suddenly vanishes. The only numbers left in your head are your best mates phone number from when you were seven and your national insurance number. Neither of which is going to do you any favours at this point.
Whether we are tying to bump the numbers up or down, we’ve all been there, haven’t we?
As the love of your life/person you really fancy watches you all wide eyed and questioning, you grope in the recesses of your mind for a number that will satisfy their curiosity and not have them legging it for the nearest exit.
Not easy to do on the spot.
It’s a number you invariably need to be much more sober to work out. It’s tricky, it has to factor in several things: how old you are when asked; how many people you have actually slept with; how many people they have slept with; whether they would want you to have slept with more or less people than them; how drunk you are when asked.
As you stare at the love of your life/person you really fancy, your eyes wild with panic, a number reaches out to you. You grab it and almost blurt it out before realising what number it is.
The actual number of people you have slept with.
The only number you can bloody well think of. All other numbers in the history of mathematics having suddenly ceased to exist.
And so you get cunning. You get scientific. Or at least you try to through the fug of alcohol.
You devise a genius way of finding the perfect ‘magic number’. You divide it by the number of years you have been above the age of consent, times that by how many glasses of wine you have drunk, knock back another glass, attempt to work out the hypotenuse of the number before remembering you never really understood what that meant anyway, and give up.
You toss the number aside, open your mouth and say “seven”.
Because everybody says seven.
Everybody.
And why not? Seven is a lovely number. A respectable number. It’s not too big, not too small, neither intimidating nor pitiful.
The only trouble is – everybody says seven.
And that’s when it happens. The person who’s eyes you were just staring into trying to look honest and convincing gives you that look. The look of “yeah, I believe you, thousands wouldn’t.” And from then on you know: no matter how long you are together, no matter how many children you have or how many years you stay married, they will always think of you as either a pathetic loser or a bit of a slut.
And the trouble is, you’ll never know which one.
Nor are you completely sure which you would prefer it to be.
I'm Heather, an ex expat, now back in blighty and living in Lancashire. Which is just like Lapland... only less snowy and stuff.
Brilliant! You are such an amazing writer – whatever made this little pearler creep into your mind I wonder?! I genuinely haven’t been in this situation – I met my now hubbie at Uni and he was nearly my first – a couple of others in the midst. As you say – it depends on the age you are at the time – and I was only 18 when we met.
I’ve had this conversation several times in my life – and it never gets any easier. The worst thing is forgetting what number you gave and then getting it wrong later down the line. Not that I’ve ever done that. Ahem.
So what do you do if the answer really *is* seven…?
ha ha ha, I guess you need to go up or down one or two… which way is up to you
Seven? I wish.
I can remember an ex telling me she’d slept with 18 guys before me. I was devastated – but only because I’d built her up as a paragon of virtue in my mind. A ridiculous thing to do. Now, a bit older, a little bit wiser, the way I figure it is someone’s past belongs to them and them alone. It’s not anybody else’s business and shouldn’t change how you feel about them in the now.
So. That being the case. You can tell me, Heather. Honestly, you can, and I will still love you.
Couldn’t agree more. I’ve never asked my fella this and I don’t care what the answer is. It makes no difference to me at all, he’s still the same person.
As for how many, well obviously – seven. No, really. No wait, don’t look at me like that…I can explain….come baaaaaack!
And 18 is considered a lot?
“And 18 is considered a lot?” Snigger.
You and me so need to compare notes over a bottle or two of wine.
I meant that purely from the perspective of someone that has only slept with seven people, obviously. Ahem.
I used to use the same method as when the doctor would ask how many cigarettes I smoked and how many units of alcohol I’d consume in a week.
Think of a number and halve it, and then halve it again.
Then wish you’d said 7*.
*7 so works for all of the above.
Seven is *the* number, is it not? Perfect in so may situations. although whenever the doctors asked me those questions I always used to say three. You can never lie to much when it comes to doctors forms.
Uhm, I think my real number is about 14/15? Maybe? Bearing in mind the years I was at uni and made the most of it! >__<
14 or 15 sounds quite respectable to me. Don’t know what Steve was going about really….
There is a formula to work out the truth – whatever number people give you do this:
Females – multiply it by 3
Males – divide it by 3
By three you say? Crap, I’d better lower that number!
Hilarious. and my number really really is 7.
When my daughter told me she was contemplating ‘doing it’
she asked , OMG was SO not prepared for that!!
Sure, we believe you…
See, if I have any regrets it is that I wasn’t more slutty! It’s too late now but I should definitely have slept with more people. I think I would lie by adding to my real number. Apart from to my Mum of course. As far as she is concerned it is 2 and she has absolutely no reason to believe otherwise!
To my mum and my children the answer must always be 2, right? The only bugger is, she may well read this…
You mean my husband has simply been employing the magic number???????
*rushes off to carry out severe interrogation*
And of course you told him the honest truth… ahem
Why answer *that* question at all though? Just deflect!
that just makes you look guilty of something though. Sluttiness mostly. No, The best option is always to lie.
And there endeth the fucked up moral lesson from Heather
LOL. The only thing I was thinking of this whole time was, “I’ve been with 7 people…I wonder what number they’re going to recommend?”
Uh huh. Sure. *suspicious look*
Oh heck, I think I need to catch up sometime. I only need one hand (for the counting!!)
I’m so glad you added the ‘for the counting’ bit
The trouble with having been settled right down for 14 years is that, whilst I know I have a piece of paper somewhere with the actual details on it, the real number has disappeared … 7 is a great answer!
You do realise I’m now going to spend the afternoon trying to recalculate the right number, don’t you?
I would expect nothing less!
And you have it all written down somewhere? Now that’s organisation gone a bit too far…
My number is depressing. I don’t want to talk about it. Oh okay, fine then. Seven. Happy?
Never mind love, you can make up for it when you come and join my Lapland commune. All that free love and everything…
Seven. Yes, seven. Me too. *ahem*