For mothers, if you mention ménage à moi at a party, even if you’re talking about the benefits of increased circulation, reduced stress, good complexion and an energized system, people look at you like you’ve got no knickers on… Suddenly, once you’ve sexed your way into a baby, you’re not sexy if you talk about masturbation, you’re just a little bit weird. … More Oh Yes I Masturbate. Said No Mother Ever.
“But,” I stammered, thinking how my back doesn’t curve in and out like a slide down a hill, but more like a rollercoaster ride sideways, “That means when I’m 80 I’ll be at right angles, I’ll need a double zimmer!”
…For anyone not straight, keep reading. … More Scoliosis my old friend, I’ve come to talk to you again.
You were in my dream last night. I can’t explain why you were in a Santa suit and I’m sorry about making your leg go to sleep but we had fun didn’t we? I know you don’t do that with all of your Facebook friends. I know I’m special. Because, dear Nikolaj, I am your special 64th friend. … More Game Of Moans.
A grubby unshaven man was standing between my knees, his right leg against mine, the classic pervert’s grey coat draped behind him. Right at eye level, small fingers held his zipper and my attention. In an instant the zip was down and he reached in like he was pulling an animal out of a nest… … More ‘Nice’ Should Be For Ice creams. Not People.
Dear Google, Apple and Amazon I’m confused. You have cosmetic surgery apps targeting children as young as nine. Have your respective Boards secretly married into the Kardashian clan or has Donald Trump been having a word about creating more anxiety and unrest and bigotry in the next generation? One of the games, called Plastic Surgeon, lets you get eye lifts, nose jobs, … More Nose Jobs For Kids? No Way.
I’m sad you won’t laugh at my dancing anymore. Or make jokes about useless ex husbands. I’m sad I never made it back to Zambia to say hello again. I’m sad I never got to say goodbye. … More When You’re The Only White Girl In The Village One Friend Changes Everything.
Soon she will not want me to be visible to her. She’ll want me miles away safely not looking, not knowing, not hearing anything. I’ll cramp her style. My skirts will cramp her style. She already hates it when I get song lyrics wrong. … More I Didn’t Think I’d Miss Being Needed. Ever.
I will never vacuum more. Fact. And the curtains are fine as they are because when I need to do some naked mom dancing—yes, naked, wobbly and so bad it is genius—then I can close out the world. That’s all I need. … More Whoever Invented The Inner Critic Needs A Kick In The Head.
I walked into NZ Fashion Week feeling like a fraud. I didn’t even have interesting shoes on. Aside from red lips there was nothing haute couture about me. More haute boring. Having forgotten all about my tickets to Eugénie, I’d dressed that day in shabby office, which is a little known category I’ve been cultivating since … More The Only Fashion To Wear Is Not Care.
Recently I listened to Alisa Vitti’s TED talk about women’s monthly cycles and it blew my fallopian tubes apart. It shocked me so much I shared it on Facebook. It got six likes. God, I am such an influencer. But this is such a winning idea I need to share it again as I’ve had it … More Writer’s block? It could be your ovaries, try sorting the spice rack instead.
Feminists don’t go to Eminem concerts because he does not say good things about women. Nor do Feminists speak softy. Or watch porn. And they certainly don’t yell cunt at other stupid drivers on the motorway. I can’t be a Feminist because I’ve done all these things. Sometimes I wind the window down. Here are … More Since When Did I Become A Bad Feminist?
Wine makes life more exciting. The taste, the boisterous conversations, the unbuttoning of inhibitions, and the superior dance moves. Then there’s cooking with wine—as my Great Aunt Hazel likes to say, “one glass for the meal, one for the chef!” These were my thoughts in April as I battled the idea of giving up for a month. You see, I’m not … More To Wine Or Not To Wine. That Is My Question.