My sister Mary is such a slut.

Yeah, I’m not terribly happy about opening a column that way either. The alternatives were pathetically dry though.

As it turns out, writing about calling someone a slut is not easy. As many of you might have guessed, this is in response to the statements recently made by radio pundit Rush Limbaugh, asserting that young woman Sandra Fluke was a slut for using birth control and advocating for health care coverage for it.

It’s a bit belated, I know. I liken my initial reaction to how I felt when I was sideswiped by a utility truck while crossing the street in New York City last year.

I had the light, I was in the crosswalk. I stood stock still in the middle of the street, completely stunned by the fact that I had just been hit, and vibrant bruises were already quickly blossoming over my arm and thigh.

And the driver who hit me actually stopped to yell that he could sue. And he called me well, a rather colorful and uncomplimentary thing.

In short, both the crosswalk and the Rush incidents caused me to think the same thing: “I’m sorry, what did you just call me?”

And the name calling in both cases caught me so off guard, the lag time between the insult and my own response was notable.

But first let’s try to make our way back to my sister.

The slut.

Part of why the slut rhetoric is so hard to respond to, as far as I’m concerned, is that it’s a bit challenging to do so without oversharing on things I imagine most people would prefer not to know — whether it’s their business or not.

But as my options become incredibly limited otherwise, I guess it’s time to overshare.

You’re welcome.

And you’ve been warned.

First off, I’m a slut. And not just in the “Oi, Slut!” kind of way.

Edwina, an older girl living in my college dorm during my freshman year, used to loudly call out to me in her thick Aussie drawl “Oi, Slut!” every time we crossed paths. It flustered me at first, but as it turns out, that’s just how she greeted everyone.

Having recently gone on the pill, and believing that said pill should be covered by insurance regardless of the beliefs any employer stuck playing middle-man with my health care, I am a slut.

Here’s a thought — let’s work on removing the middle man. But that’s another topic.

I’m on the pill because, to be blunt, I bleed a lot. (As I said before, you’re welcome.)

I was struggling with severe anemia on top of an increasing amount of pain, and the pill seemed like a good thing to try. Because while a glass of wine — or, if things got really bad, a shot of tequila — could often ease the double-over-and-wail-inducing cramps, it certainly didn’t help my iron levels and I haven’t the slightest inclination to booze it up for four to 10 days straight every month.

Yep, for me, it’s four to 10 days. And did I mention you’re welcome?

And then there’s Mary. Happily married Mary. She and her husband are expecting their first child together. Like many married couples these days, they waited a few years to conceive, to be a little more financial stable, settled, etc.

So my sister spent some time on the pill. For all I know, she will go back on it after my new niece is born.

Mary gave me the OK, but it still feels pretty weird to share this information in a column. About as weird as calling her a slut.

I’m not sure if my other sister, Cathy, (also happily married for several years now) is also on the pill. As I write this, I’m considering calling her and asking, but given that she currently lives in Sydney and there’s a decent time difference, I’m not sure if this is the best hour to phone her up just to ask, “Oi Cathy, are you a slut?”

For a while, I thought that above all else, I was disgusted by the highly public namecalling. I mean, I’m not impressed when left-leaning talking heads use crude language to describe others either — and it sure does seem like Bill Maher and Keith Olbermann among others bring out some winning words for women especially.

But when responses such as “it’s not the language I would have used” — I agree, Mittens, I’m personally pulling for “strumpet” to make a comeback — failed to satisfy me, I realized it was something more.

Part of what’s so striking about the name-calling in this case is that, given the context, the meaning of the insult is just so darn literal.

Yet the reality says otherwise. Thanks to dear Ed back in Australia, I can’t say I’m terribly sensitive to the word “slut.”

I’m even a little fond of it. Thanks to performing in “The Vagina Monologues,” I have a unique relationship with the “C word” as well — that doesn’t mean I necessarily want it hurled my way as an insult.

I’m still a little dumfounded that we’re even having this conversation. For my generation, slut shaming like this was generally in history books, not the national news.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go start planning my slutty sister’s baby shower.

letters@timesrecord.com