Most twentysomethings have likely made it through their first wave of weddings. We might even be so well wedding worn as to realize that if you fly in for the wedding, you’re not required to fly in for any other pre-wedding events or spring for the knife set — a pot holder will do just fine.

But it’s a special, soul-sucking time when not only are the people whose relationships you once took bets on tying the knot — so are your exes.

It can be a hard thing when your first love gets married. And it can be simply irksome when your less-serious, months-long exes find someone willing to love them to eternity. A good friend who just watched her first boyfriend marry someone else took it semi in-stride with a single lit candle and both Adele albums on repeat in the dark.

An ex getting married is something of a personal tragedy. Not necessarily because The One has, you know, Gotten Away (that happened when you broke up, like, years ago), but because it means you’ve got one less option in the pool of people you can ostensibly have guilt-free sex with.

It’s an important pool, and a valued resource — one that lately seems to dwindle ever more rapidly and which, conundrum of conundrums, you can’t replenish without betraying the very principle of the pool in the first place.

As Anna Faris capitalized on in this year’s widely pannedWhat’s Your Number, people are immensely concerned about figures when it comes to sex. Not those kinds of figures — the number kind: How many people we’ve slept with, and perhaps even more important, how many people we’re comfortable admitting we’ve slept with.

Exes are valuable only in limited capacities. One of their more inviting purposes, outside of making upgrades all the more obvious, is serving as a familiar hook-up option with the added bonus of not increasing your Number. It’s like it doesn’t even count.

Watch: “I accidentally had sloppy, regrettable sex with Ben this weekend” versus “I accidentally had sloppy, regrettable sex with Ben this weekend — again.” One is a look at your life, look at your choices sort of moment; the other is a laugh and a shrug over brunch. Been there, did that already gives you carte blanche to do it again as many times as you want.

It’s slutty immunity. Think of it as an adult version of catching the Chicken Pox: Dick-in Pox?

And each time one of these precious exes bites the dust down the aisle, your options for anxiety-free booty calls decrease and your immunity takes a serious hit.

Luckily, there are a few surefire solutions to keep you satisfied without making you sluttified:

Switch teams — Everyone knows that your Number is sexual orientation-specific. If you switch sides, you’re a virgin again. Woot!

Adopt alternative sex acts — And then make them ultra meaningful. That way you can explain yourself: “Yeah, I’ve had sex with more than 20 people, but I’ve only sat on, like, five faces. I only sit on faces when I’m in love.”

Move.