Debauchery and Drunken Escapades

The email started so innocently.

“I know we hardly know each other but I really feel compelled to write.”

And then? It was all downhill from there.

The author wanted to know why I was such a hypocrite. How I could be so active in my church but at the same time write a blog about nothing but debauchery and drunken escapades.

I splatter my keyboard with the coffee I’d been drinking as I read this, wasting a perfectly good mouthful of Starbucks raspberry latte in the process.

Debauchery? Drunken escapades? Dude. What blog are you reading?

He went on to basically tell me that I need to have my soul saved. Of course, my initial reaction is to type back and tell him, “Oh yeah? Well you’re a weirdo and you look like Charles Manson.”

So of course I do.

(Restraint and discretion are so over rated.)

After that tit for tat attack I break down and Google debauchery. Because honestly? I don’t even know what it means. If I’m guilty of it I should probably know what it is.

Turns out it’s a whole lot of sex. With a whole lot of people.

What?!?!?!

The closest I’ve ever gotten to a ménage a toi was walking in on my college roommate and her boyfriend. I screamed. She screamed. Her boyfriend laughed. And then I ran to the bathroom to scrub my eye sockets out because her boyfriend looked like Shrek with his clothes on. You don't want to know what he looked like with them off.

I still have nightmares.

I scan my memory for any writing I could have done that could be construed into debauchery and I am seriously perplexed. My blog reads more like Celibate on the Farm than Sex in the City.

Unless I have repressed some vague memory of a weekend stripping in Las Vegas I am pretty darn sure I’ve never experienced anything close to debauchery. The only conclusion that I can come to is that in this conservative pocket of the country single is synonymous with scandalous. If you aren’t married, well, then you must be out every weekend in hot pursuit of as much debauchery as possible.

And in my case, putting said escapades on the internet.

Well, Charles Manson’s evil weirdo twin.

I got news for ya.

The blog is called Dating Land. I’m single. And on occasion? I go on a date. And on said date I may indulge in a glass of, gasp!, wine.

And unless that date turns into a full blown relationship, no one ends up naked at the end of the night. I go home to my boring house and my boring life and sit down at my boring laptop and write about what it’s like to be alone and how hopeful I am that maybe someday? I’ll find that one person to spend the rest of my life with.

And the last time I checked?

That’s not a sin.

But judging others.

Sure as hell is.