You Are the Goddess, Hestia

You are Hestia, virginal goddess of the hearth and home.  You are the epitome of humility but then you take nothing for granted when you’re eaten by your daddy and regurgitated like bad premises for reality shows.

You are gentle and kind  and a natural born peacemaker but what are you remembered for — a traumatic incident with a minor god.  Priapus, the god of outrageously large genitalia, made a stealthy move on you at a slumber party.  Upon his approach, his ass made rubbing noises and you awoke and escaped before he was able to reload all his junk back into the wheelbarrow.

However, you now suffer from post traumatic stress disorder.  As a result whenever you hear something as innocuous as the rustle of middle-aged women’s pantyhose, you scream “Who dat?” and barricade yourself inside the nearest bathroom.

But you are a survivor.  And your hymen is still intact.

You are nothing if not resilient.