Nicole Hardy is a local poet you should know. (You can read an interview with her over here.) She's funny, she's talented, and she's a great performer of her own work. And last weekend, she had a piece published in the "Modern Love" column of the New York Times.

OF all the places I felt sure I’d never go, Planned Parenthood topped the list. Because, you know, they perform abortions and give condoms to kids, or so I’d been warned. Yet one spring afternoon found me in its waiting room next to a teenage girl, who was clearly perplexed by the intake form and likely bound for an uncomfortable, humiliating four minutes in the back of a borrowed Chevy Chevelle.

But what did I know? I was a 35-year-old virgin, preparing for my own “first time,” which, incidentally, didn’t happen until I was well into 36.

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I was not frigid, fearful or socially inept. Not overweight or unattractive. Didn’t suffer from halitosis or social anxiety disorder. I was a practicing Mormon, and Mormons “wait” until marriage...

If, like me, you were distracted this weekend by other sections of the newspaper, you should go back and give Hardy's story a read. It's really good.