Reasons you will hate me

Naked ladies in a Japanese spa comparing vaginas.

My birthday celebrations are now in their second week. To date, I have received a boogie board, the bulb of an oriental lily, a subscription to New Weekly and a plastic Jesus who, when wound up, raises his arms skywards as though bestowing a blessing. Whether this says more about me or the quality of the people I surround myself with, I'm not sure.


On Saturday I gathered a collective of ladies to descend upon a beautiful Japanese spa complex for the night. I'd invited fourteen reasonably close female companions, but only eight turned up. The excuses ranged from 'can't afford it' (Jess and Lucy), 'my boyfriend's rehearsing all week and Saturday's our only night together' (Noon), to 'I just can't be bothered. You don't mind, do you?' (my mother). Sprawled out on Indonesian day beds collectively making the inimitable high-pitched turkey gobble that only a group of excitable women can make, we ate cheese in huge slabs and proceeded to get very fruity on fine wine and gin. SJ dropped into conversation the time she'd been seeing Mothership's boyfriend (they were on a break), and an uncomfortable silence descended upon the room. 'Oh come on,' I said brightly and drunkenly, as though cooking up an awfully fun scheme, 'who here has slept with each other's boyfriends? Let's talk about it!'

Perhaps if I'd suggested a quick round of Stroke My Flaps or Slice My Nipples With A Razor I may have received a more enthusiastic reaction. The more promiscuous of the mob paled noticeably. The girl to my left made a joke about sleeping with Tingles' boyfriend 'years ago' and Tingles bristled; news to her. SJ pointed out that it wasn't so bad that she'd slept with Mothership's boyfriend - after all, he'd also been with Gabi. Mothership made a pointed comment about Gabi's enormous breasts. I realised rapidly that the spirit in which I'd made the suggestion was perhaps not obvious to everyone else and slyly changed the topic. 'Hey, here's a laugh,' I said, somewhat desperately, 'who would play you in the movie of your life? Bags me Mira Sorvino!' (Look, it was better than SJ's go the next morning when she loudly asked a room of hungover women eating cereal: 'Who here has been raped? Just wondering!')


The evening was salvaged, as evenings are, and everyone staggered up the hill to climb naked into the spa and compare vagina waxes. When I told this to my beloved brother Glenny G he got a faraway look in his eyes and stopped listening to what I was saying. I knew that's what boys thought we got up to when we were alone.

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