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We Need to Talk About Virgin-Shaming

Please stop calling me that.

By the Virgin Mary

Humanity, we need to talk about virgin-shaming.

So many entities are hurt by our callous tendency to call out others’ lack of sexual experience—me, Virgin America, the Virgin Islands, Virgin Mobile. Even olive oil is labeled as extra-virgin. How insensitive! What olive oil does or does not do in the bedroom is olive oil’s business.

Make no mistake: I am grateful that people are still talking about me. I never imagined that—2,017 years after one-third of the Holy Trinity exited my womb—I would still be the subject of discussion. But the time has come to stop identifying folks like me by our virginity and start labeling us by our talents. In my case, that talent is being the earthly vessel of God.

Night after night, as I listen to your prayers, I keep getting reminded that I am a virgin. It embarrasses me—I never wanted to be a virgin. But Joseph would always say that he wasn’t in the mood after a long day at the carpenter’s shop. And even my baby daddy, who can do literally whatever he wants, decided that he would rather artificially inseminate me than behold my lamb.

I like the perks of the immaculate conception—it is awfully fun to pop up in your coffee just to spook you—but I would have given up sainthood in a heartbeat to get a little action. I am humiliated that nobody ever nailed me into a cross, if you know what I’m saying.

You need to consider others’ feelings before you refer to them by their insecurity for the rest of time. What do you think, Bad-in-the-Sack Burt? How does it feel, Never-Got-Promoted Nancy? This one’s for you, Obese Olivia. You have so many honorifics to choose from—Holy Mary, Saint Mary, Queen of Heaven. Yet you all collectively chose the one about me never getting laid.

Oh, and on an unrelated note, as much as I love all of your paintings of me, I really was not white.

 

© 2017
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