My worst nightmare happened to someone else and I'm so happy it wasn't me. Some high school girl in Cleveland lost her virginity on a beach (original!) and instead of texting about it to her friend, she accidentally sent this to her Dad:
If I had to ever, EVER acknowledge to my Dad that I had sexual organs, let alone that I did something with those sexual organs -- in high school! -- I would have to kill myself. Or probably more likely he would kill me. For my safety he would kill me.
Because one of my best friends, David, comes just below my Dad in my phone book, I've frequently almost sent texts to him like "Do you have my bong?" or "I am so fucking hungover." But luckily nothing to this extent. The worst that happened in that department is when the night before I left for Paris my ex-boyfriend visited me for that awkward, empty brand of sex unique only to broken up couples where you realize something is lost and you can no longer cum simultaneously and the thought of having to snuggle after the act is vaguely wretched. Apparently after I came to Paris my dog did the wonderful thing of pulling a condom wrapper out of my trash can and leaving it on the floor in my bedroom for my Dad to find. According to my Stepmother he was shocked that I was having sex and also horrified and also prepared to fly to Europe and drag me home by the wrist. Luckily she convinced him that like, I'm 20, and this is modern day society, and he should stop being such a goddamn Catholic. But poor, poor Elizabeth Frisinger.