M.I.A. Mojo


So I put on the box last night when I finally got into bed, which I shouldn’t have done because it was already 11pm but anyway, I got sucked into watching an episode of ‘Sex and the City’.

I was never totally addicted to this show but I have seen a fair few of them although by no means all of them.  So as I lay there watching Samantha nail some small dude just for the heck of it and Carrie having some afternoon delight with some grey haired politician guy who asked if she would pee on him in the shower, I got to thinking (like you do).

Where the hell was I when they gave out the guilt-free Free Love gene?

Have I missed out on the bang of a lifetime or could it still be around the corner (as it were).  I’m not suggesting for a second that anything is amiss in that department in my life right now.  I wouldn’t want Bman to get paranoid.  I just wondered where I left my sex drive?  Possibly in a field somewhere at a rave or festival back in the 90’s.  It didn’t have my name on it though so I doubt that if it ever got handed I’d be able to recognize.  (Most likely the one covered in cobwebs like Miss Haversham’s wedding gown.)

I’m being a little unfair on myself.  I’m a passionate woman (when I can be arsed – which perhaps is an unfortunate turn of phrase) but I just wondered if all groups of girlfriends are like Carrie, Samantha, Rita and Sue (or whatever the other 2 are called).  I have some friends who have enjoyed a, let’s say, more varied sex life than me, and test driven a few more bangers than myself.  Ba ba schwing!  Have I missed out?  and is it too late to find out now that I am skidding towards 40 at a rate of knots? (Probably).

The only one night stand I ever had, asked me out half way through the deed so I laughed at him and he looked so crestfallen that I feared the job wouldn’t get finished so I said ‘okay’ and we went out for 2 months after that,  so that doesn’t count.

I almost had one once next to a bin behind Chic-o-Land in Chester when I was 19 but my leggings were too tight and I’d drunk too much Diamond White to muster up any enthusiasm so it came to nothing – which to be honest, is probably just as well… I never saw him again.  (Sorry Mum for that insalubrious picture).

 I think I may have broached this topic before on here so I’ll stop now to avoid repeating myself.  Hey! maybe when I’m even older and even more decrepit, my memory will be so fucked that I won’t remember the fucks at all so I will be able to tell myself that I was Anais Nin or Tanya Turner rather than Mavis Riley or Mary Whitehouse (who I suspect was actually a bit of a tomcat in her youth and just discovered prudishness in her dotage in a late attempt to try and get into heaven).

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