Tag Archives: sex is never an emergency

Sex is No Longer An Emergency

Back in the days of yore, when The Curmudgeon enrolled in college, he attended a local (Philadelphia) school at which most of the students resided in dorms.  The Curmudgeon, however – never one to do things the easy way – was attending as a commuter.  The university wanted all freshmen on campus for a few days for orientation, however, so commuting students were invited to pack a bag and stay for a few days in fraternity houses scattered throughout the large urban campus.

So they gathered at the student union building, where they were shepherded into a large room where a number of speakers addressed them about various aspects of undergraduate life at an enormous (and, it turned out, utterly soulless) university.  While they listened they were handed a plastic bag full of goodies, such as campus maps, coupons for stores on and around campus, information about university athletic facilities, and more.  One of the items in this bag was a small book titled Sex is Never An Emergency.  The Curmudgeon, a virgin at the time, was fascinated and couldn’t wait to give it a whirl because the need to have sex was fast reaching the emergency level for him.

But the fates intervened.  During the complex logistical process of getting commuters to their frat houses, The Curmudgeon kept his eye on his suitcase but was somehow separated from his plastic bag of goodies – including, of course, Sex is Never an Emergency.  For many years The Curmudgeon enjoyed telling the story of freshman orientation, his separation from his plastic bag of goodies, and his now-ingrained belief that, absent the wisdom no doubt imparted by that book, sex was still, in fact, an emergency for him.

Last Saturday The Curmudgeon attended a used book sale at a public library about a twenty-minute drive from the scene of that fateful freshman orientation.  This particular public library, which shall remain nameless because The Curmudgeon has already written enough bad things about Cherry Hill, New Jersey – oops – bills such events as “semi-annual used book sales” even though they’re held quarterly.  He invites his elderly mother and younger sister to join him and they make an afternoon of it (The Curmudgeon’s is not a particularly exciting family).  Anyhow, as The Curmudgeon explored table after table of used books that well-to-do suburbanites had purchased and discarded – there’s usually an entire table of The DaVinci Code – there, sitting in one of the piles, was a copy of Sex is Never an Emergency.  (Mom, bless her heart, smiled when she saw the book; she remembered the story.)  The Curmudgeon eagerly snapped it up, took it home, and devoured it in a single, non-lascivious reading.

So now, just thirty-eight years after he first laid eyes on it, The Curmudgeon has finally read Sex is Never an Emergency and finally understands why sex is never an emergency.

Now if only someone could explain to him why sex is such a rarity.