No Sex Please, We’re Virginians
Urbanna, Va.—Life . . . when one isn’t grieving over the loss of a beloved friend or twisted in knots over concern over the direction America is taking, is full of fun.
Among the various reports of bad news, hilarious things happen. One must be ever prepared for laughter. Here is an example.
For years I have been carrying a deep, dark secret. But now it is time to let the cat out of the bag—the cat being sex.
|by Mary Wakefield Buxton|
Years ago I did a perfectly innocent thing. Out of curiosity, I “googled” my name on the internet, “Mary Buxton” to see what I would find. To my horror I discovered that besides being a writer in Virginia, Mary Buxton was a prominent sex therapist working in California. The Californian Mary Buxton had huge professional presence on the internet.
I knew at once I had a problem, but I was not sure how to solve it. Even though the other Mary Buxton was working on the West Coast, far away from Virginia, the world of internet has brought all people to the proximity of right next door.
Suppose people confused me with her? Worse, suppose they contacted me about their sexual problems?
Fortunately, my professional pen name has always been Mary Wakefield Buxton, and Google has me clearly identified as this woman. No sex therapy whatsoever in my background. Just an everyday author, writer and columnist working in Virginia.
The problem is I use “Mary Buxton” as my informal name, which means that anything I write or do under this name will be picked up in Google with the other.
The consequence is that I have pleaded with various editors that I be called Mary Wakefield Buxton with publicity that may come my way, especially with my writing. I don’t explain why, because, well, I really don’t want to go into it. But, the grim reality is this: if I don’t use Wakefield in my name, my identity could be confused.
To add to the plot, “that Mary Buxton” and “this Mary Buxton” are of opposite political persuasions, which indicate perhaps even better why we might not want to be confused. As to which of us fears confusion with the other’s identity more is still unclear.
But what to do? Read massive pamphlets and books, or attend classes on sex, hoping to prepare myself for the first time someone contacts me in hopes of getting sexual advice?
Not that I wouldn’t be perfectly willing to give wise counsel to some poor soul in need of advice. My advice might be considered to be a wee bit too conservative, however. When it comes to sex, my universal advice to all people would be this: “Don’t.”
Recently, for the fun of it, I contacted my favorite sex therapist. After all, she has a fine name and I figured she also would have a good sense of humor. “Dear Mary Buxton,” I wrote. “I am laughing because I also am Mary Buxton, a writer in Virginia and if I don’t use Wakefield in my Google address, my readers searching for me on the internet will automatically go to you.”
“What a riot,” she wrote back. She went on to say she plans on reading my books.
It turns out that California’s Mary Buxton has quite respectable Virginia connections. She grew up in the Lynchburg area, went to Sweetbriar College. (Wouldn’t you know a Sweetbriar grad would go into sex therapy whereas my college, Randolph-Macon Women’s College, would interest me in a career of writing? I dare say I can guess which profession is the more lucrative.)
The cruel realities of the world.
But go ahead and Google the Californian Mary Buxton. She is attractive, full of fun and she is no doubt excellent in her profession. Thus, I highly recommend her as a sex therapist to all in reader land who might require her services.
She additionally wrote that she is an Obama fan and is inspired by him, which will probably make that Mary Buxton far more attractive with many of my readers than yours truly.
Sorry to say that politicians do not inspire me. The last one who inspired me was Barry Goldwater back in 1960, when I was 19, when he made an appearance at R-MWC. And look what happened to him. Meanwhile, the only politician that I really trust in either party is Delegate Harvey Morgan, a man I have known most all of my life.
But it charms me that there may be a Mary Buxton out there in this big world who is the exact opposite from me in every way. Perhaps we should all hope for such in our mutual identities, and that one would automatically cancel out on the other. In that way the world could become much more developed and completed.
For the fun of it I also “googled” my father, the late George Wakefield. I found someone of that name who was a photographer and had a great collection of what my generation call “pin-up” girls displayed on the internet. I don’t think Father ever knew he had such an exciting “other identity.” But if he had, he might have considered using his full birth name, George Patterson Wakefield.
For the present, I believe now that I am the only Mary Wakefield Buxton on Google. But eventually, as sure as the sun comes up every morning, there will be another.
The mind boggles wondering who she might be. In the meantime, it keeps one humble. In a way, it is a bit like reincarnation. I just can’t wait to discover who my next shared identity may be.