Dying a Virgin

According to the Mayan calendar, the Apocalypse is coming. Or something. It’s the end of the world as we know it, right?

If this were a movie, and if my boyfriend were a jerk, he would have already tried this timeless trope on me:

Do you want to die a virgin?

I understand why this works in movies. Sex is almost always the eventual goal of romantic entanglements; maintaining abstinence is rarely lauded as an accomplishment. Add in the extra drama of a life or death situation, and suddenly even the reluctant romantic lead feels enticed to do the deed.

But this isn’t a movie, and my boyfriend is not only totally awesome, but also a virgin like I am. 

Some critics might think we haven’t really “lived” because we’ve never had coitus, but I beg to differ. Call me crazy, but I think there is more to living life to the fullest than engaging in intercourse.

Vacationing in Nice on a regular basis (four times over two years) is WAY better than sex.

If the world really does end soon (it won’t), then what will I regret?

• Not having traveled more (even though I’ve traveled a lot for my age)
• Not having published a book (even though I’ve shared my writing with friends, family, and the Internet)
• Not having done more on my list of 101 Things in 1001 Days (but I’ve done quite a few!)
• Not having read more books (despite the vast number I have read)

The more I think about it, the more I realize I’m already living my life to the fullest. If the Apocalypse happens, will I regret dying a virgin?

Yes and no.

I will regret never having had the privilege of being a mother, which, you know, often comes about from having sex, but I could never regret staying true to myself and my beliefs.

Besides.

My life has been so awesome and so full of MOI that it’s impossible for me to live—or die—with any true regrets.

I might die a virgin, but most people will die having never lived near Paris. Bam!