There was a moment in a lot of classic movies her mom liked, ones in a lot of classic musicals her grandma did, and even some more in a lot of classic telenovelas that her dad liked. Sometimes it happened right at the start like in slasher films or at the end like “RENT” where gay people die so straight people can cry about it.

Sometimes it's by falling off a cliff, or randomly shot or randomly stabbed or randomly overcome by vapors. A “loose woman” gets what's coming to her. The reason is subtle, it’s not like someone bursts out and says “the sluts gotta die” or “oops, demonic curse on your vagina, pussy Final Destination. Tits out means ya gotta quit it.” “It” being such nonsense as being alive.

It’s never outright stated. However, nothing makes a tragic heroine more tragic than death by getting frisky. The classic “East Lynne” has Lady Isabelle run off with someone who isn’t her husband. And what does she do to make up for it in the end, how does she redeem herself? Flowers? Chocolates? An apology tour or heartfelt sobbing youtube video? Unfortunately, mostly, she must die.

No one is safe. Even Buffy the Vampire Slayer cannot slay Female Horny Hubris. She sleeps with Angel once and he immediately becomes an evil vampire murderer and is barely sexy about it. That’s right ladies, keep your legs closed, because you can’t stab narrative aesops.

Eliza paced around her apartment like one of those big cats in zoos that didn’t get enough enrichment. She held a phone tightly in one hand and had one of her dad’s favorite TV shows on in the background. Yo Soy Betty, la fea, the original Colombian Ugly Betty.

However, even the face of determined Betty couldn’t assuage Eliza’s electric nerves and rapid cinched breaths.

It’s fine! She told herself, it’s not like people have sex on the first date! It’s not like this is even a date! Mickey could still fail her midterm! And I could still move out to the middle of the Pacific and Vagina Proof my house! No sex if you live on a rock and think about how much you hate the weather every single day of your life.

Any culture whose primary topic of conversation was the weather was obviously not getting laid enough, but Eliza was also perfectly content being sexually repressed for the rest of her life. Maybe. Sort of. She wished.

Betty sat at her desk in the storage closet and typed up papers for her boss she was in love with. Eliza whimpered.

She stared off into the 6th-dimension, clenched her aching teeth, and dialed the number on her phone she had been meaning to for hours now. It was a Thursday evening, and allegedly the day Mickey was going to be getting her make-up midterm back.

Eliza hadn’t seen a lot of Mickey for the last couple days, mostly because they were both busy studying, and also because Eliza was valiantly trying to avoid having panic attacks. Could they really go on a date? What did that mean? How was she supposed to act? And did Eliza deserve it?

Eliza held up the phone to her ear and a cold sinking dropped through her gut like stones made of ice plunging into black holes. “Hello?” Eliza said between measured, timed breaths. “Delphine?”

“Hi, Eliza,” a bright voice said on the other side, “how are you doing? Is this about your next appointment?”

“No.” Eliza said with a distressed tremor. She usually only saw Dr. Delphine Wheatly once a month on Tuesdays, but the next Tuesday felt as distant as a buoy on the other side of an Olympic sized pool. “I just,” she stammered, “I just, um, things are happening and I was thinking, um, I could…” She tried to gather herself as she called her therapist and bits of her ran off one by one like spooked hares.

“How are you feeling?” Delphine said in her rich tone. She had a rhythmic cadence that made her words almost sound like singing sometimes. “Do you need to come in?”

“No.” Eliza said in a thin voice. “I just,” she inhaled through her nose. “Here's the thing… " Something shook within her, "I might have a date.”

“That’s wonderful.” Delphine said warmly. “I’m really proud of you Eliza, you’re putting yourself out there even when it can be hard.”

“Yeah.” Eliza rubbed at her face roughly with one hand. “It... feels hard.”

“You’re going out of your comfort zone! That takes a lot of courage," Delphine continued, “is there anything I can do to help?”

“I dunno.” Eliza looked at her feet and emptied out into a fine nothingness. Empty and useless and paper. “I’m not sure if I should go.”

“Why is that?” Delphine prompted, “You don’t have to go of course, though it never hurts to try something new. Is this person not the right fit?”

“No. I mean, I don’t know.” Eliza walked around in tight circles, “I like her. I like her so much I think. But, I feel, so,” she struggled again for the words. Eliza hung her head, “I’m not sure if I’m… right...”

“Eliza,” Delphine chided her gently, “you know what I’m always thinking during our sessions? That you are so bright and capable and a delight. I’m sure this person will see that too.”

Eliza set her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t think so. I mean, I hope she would, but you can’t see something that’s… You know.” Not there.

“What is telling you this?” Delphine said seriously. “What do you think is holding you back?"

Eliza doubled-over and curled up onto the floor. She spoke quickly, “I don’t feel like I’m right. Like, there’s this big ugly side of me that’s going to ruin everything and she’ll wake up and realize that I’m gross? And weird? And that I don’t know how to act, like, ever?”

Eliza felt that nervous energy almost choke her from her toes to the tips of her fingers. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

Delphine tisked, “What do I always say?” She said in her even way, “Should-ing on ourselves is just that. Shitting on ourselves for no reason.” She said curtly, “who says you can’t be weird and gross and not know how to act and not go on dates? I’m weird and gross all the time but my husband was extremely excited about all of those things.”

Eliza chuckled and centered herself. “I’m not sure if that’s the same thing.”

“I know you might not feel like your best.” She said simply and Eliza could almost feel her gentle smile and the millions of plants she kept in her cramped little office downtown. “But the moon comes out even when it's not full. Why don’t you try this date and see how it goes? No harm in going and seeing how you feel.” Eliza was quiet for a long moment. Delphine made a soft noise, “Us gross weirdos deserve love too. Especially when we are also such delights as well.”

I could ruin everything, Eliza thought to herself, there’s no telling if I’ll pass this particular test. How do you even pass a date?

Delphine cleared her throat, “We could play worst case, best case.”

Eliza nodded to herself like a broken kitchen cabinet, “Worst case,” she looked up at the ceiling, “I die. And she hates me and I have to find a new roommate.”

Delphine chuckled darkly, “in that order?”

“In that order.” Eliza smiled to herself.

“And best case?” Delphine said slowly.

Eliza closed her eyes. Best case: Mickey smiles at her. Best case: Mickey runs a hand down her arm and grabs her hand. She holds it. Best case: Mickey says ‘lets do this again’ and they do.

Best case: the world becomes very small and their faces become very close. Best case: Mickey presses her down into the mattress and kisses her until they’re breathless and runs her hands down Eliza’s whole body and doesn’t wrinkle her nose at anything she finds there. Best case: Eliza kisses her right back like she’s always wanted to do and touches every part of her until Mickey cries out and tosses her head back and her face contorts. Eliza holds her, touches her, tastes her.

And then, of course, she dies of the Having Sex Curse, and the movie cuts to black. But maybe she could handle that. Maybe she was willing to get Wasting Women's Hysteria Disease for Mickey and just see what happens.

The Betty on screen has a daydream about Armando and Eliza smiled quietly to herself.

“Best case,” she finally responded softly, “I don’t puke on her from the nerves.”

“Exactly!” Delphine cheered, “remember, it doesn’t have to be perfect. No one expects ‘perfect’ from a first date. And as Mary Oliver says--”

“You do not have to be good.” Eliza uncurled herself and they repeated the lines to each other in tandem, “You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.”

“That’s my girl.” Delphine finished.

Eliza pressed her skirt down and heard footsteps softly thunking closer in the hallway outside. “Thank you.” Eliza exhaled, “I think that helped.”

“You have to tell me how it goes!” Delphine cheered, “And listen, I slept with my husband on the first date, and he didn’t even wear any socks with his shoes or have sheets on his bed that night. So don’t worry about things going sideways-- they always do.”

Eliza blushed to herself at the mention of sex from an older adult. “I have to go now Delphine!” She heard that rich laugh on the other side of the phone and shook her head.

“I’m so proud of you.” Delphine said again. “You’ve come so far.”

Eliza looked up as a key wiggled in the lock. “Here she comes.”

“Ah!” The older woman squealed. "Go get 'em."

“Bye.” Eliza hung up quickly and stood. She touched her face and hair and skirt. Her hair was stiff and bouncy after it dried from the shower she took earlier in which she shaved most of her body until she was a raw slick seal. She held her breath as the door swung open and Mickey whooped as she walked in. "Heeey."

Eliza examined her bright expression and loose movements, "How'd it go?"

Mickey bounced on her heels and waved, “Guess who got a fucking B on her test!” She threw her arms in the air, “high B!”

Eliza smiled widely, “I knew you could.”

Mickey tossed her backpack on the floor and kicked it. “What are you doing?” She beamed, “go get your things. I’m a woman of my word and we have reservations.”

Eliza’s mouth hung open. “Reservations?” She stammered and her nerves softly flared up again.

“Yeah,” Mickey winked, “Made 'em last week. I mean, I was going to take you out whether I passed or not.” She shrugged and swept around in a circle, “now lemme change and we can get our celebration on.”

Eliza’s treacherous brain told her that this was in fact, wrong and bad and she was going to ruin everything. However, she made a firm handshake with such thoughts and stood up taller. It wouldn’t hurt to just see what happens.

“Yeah,” Eliza hurried to put her hair up and dress in something that maybe even showed off a little cleavage. “I’m ready.”