Saturday. Somehow I know that the kiss I’ve been waiting for will happen at the party, but maybe not if I have to leave before everyone else. Suddenly, there’s one of Mum’s letters I have to read.
Luckily, Dad’s not in. Up in my room, I put on Bettye Swann and pull out the Puma box.
I hold The one where I have my first kiss . If I open this letter, then I’ll only have one left. I dash out of my room, calling, ‘Mr Smokey … I need you!’ I find him asleep on a pair of Dad’s pants. He digs his claws into them as I pick him up so I’m forced to bring Mr Smokey and Dad’s pants back into my room.
‘Sit on my knee and don’t wriggle,’ I tell him. ‘I need your help … and Mum’s.’ I open the letter, rest my chin on Mr Smokey’s head and start to read.
Dear Plumface,
Kissing. I’ll be honest, I was a bit of a late starter. My mum always used to say I was a ‘slow developer’, you know, to the hairdresser, to my teachers at parents’ evening, to my friends’ mums (loudly, at parents’ evening). She was probably right. I was a slow developer in all the key ‘becoming a woman’ areas: bras, periods and kissing. When I was fifteen, I dragged Mum to Marks & Spencer’s andforced her to buy me a bra. As the sales assistant was measuring me, I saw Mum shaking her head in the mirror and then she whispered to the assistant, ‘They’re just buds .’
When the sales assistant announced I was ‘ almost a 28AA’, Mum did an ‘I told you so’ face, but she perked up when I was given the bras.
‘Oh my God!’ she shrieked as I pulled the first one out of the packet. ‘It’s so dinky … just like your first ever shoes. Maybe I could get them framed together!’ Seeing my disgusted face she added, ‘A nice box frame, Lorna. Something tasteful … It can go in the hallway.’
On to periods. Does the tampon lady still come into schools? I hope so because I can’t imagine Dad sitting you down and explaining how a tampon works. When I was eleven, all the girls in my year were called to a special assembly. A lady wearing jeans and a fluffy jumper stood in front of us andshowed us pictures of ovaries on the overhead projector.
‘You will probably start your periods sometime before your fifteenth birthday,’ she announced cheerfully.
I can’t remember much about the rest of the talk, except she held up a teacup and said that a whole period would only fill up half a teacup – I think that was supposed to reassure us – and that when we first tried to use a tampon we should take a pet into the toilet to help us relax. I don’t think I’ve made the last bit up.
Anyway, me and Mrs Miggins (my hamster) waited and waited for the big day. Finally, when I was about one week off my fifteenth birthday I saw a tiny brown spot in my knickers. YES!!!! I rushed out of the toilet and got my hamster. Now Gramps had made a complicated living arrangement for Mrs Miggins: two double-storey cages joined by a tunnel. Laboriously, I moved her home into the toilet then squeezed in next to the cages.
Mrs Miggins climbed to the top of one of her cages and hung by two paws, swinging and watching me with her beady black eyes. She was making me feel self-conscious so I gave her some toilet paper to distract her. She started shredding it and stuffing it in her cheeks. I squeezed down on to the floor next to her and watched her for a while. Then I picked up my mum’s ‘Take a Break’ magazine. I was starting to feel relaxed … maybe that tampon lady knew what she was talking about.
When we emerged from the toilet an hour later, I’d had zero tampon success, but Mrs Miggins had made a huge nest and I’d read about a woman who had a growth removed from her stomach. The growth was exactly the same shape as Italy!
On to the main event. Kissing. When I was sixteen and a half, my Sixth Form had a Christmas party. I was certain that every girl in my yearhad been kissed by now and I was getting desperate. I decided
Luckily, Dad’s not in. Up in my room, I put on Bettye Swann and pull out the Puma box.
I hold The one where I have my first kiss . If I open this letter, then I’ll only have one left. I dash out of my room, calling, ‘Mr Smokey … I need you!’ I find him asleep on a pair of Dad’s pants. He digs his claws into them as I pick him up so I’m forced to bring Mr Smokey and Dad’s pants back into my room.
‘Sit on my knee and don’t wriggle,’ I tell him. ‘I need your help … and Mum’s.’ I open the letter, rest my chin on Mr Smokey’s head and start to read.
Dear Plumface,
Kissing. I’ll be honest, I was a bit of a late starter. My mum always used to say I was a ‘slow developer’, you know, to the hairdresser, to my teachers at parents’ evening, to my friends’ mums (loudly, at parents’ evening). She was probably right. I was a slow developer in all the key ‘becoming a woman’ areas: bras, periods and kissing. When I was fifteen, I dragged Mum to Marks & Spencer’s andforced her to buy me a bra. As the sales assistant was measuring me, I saw Mum shaking her head in the mirror and then she whispered to the assistant, ‘They’re just buds .’
When the sales assistant announced I was ‘ almost a 28AA’, Mum did an ‘I told you so’ face, but she perked up when I was given the bras.
‘Oh my God!’ she shrieked as I pulled the first one out of the packet. ‘It’s so dinky … just like your first ever shoes. Maybe I could get them framed together!’ Seeing my disgusted face she added, ‘A nice box frame, Lorna. Something tasteful … It can go in the hallway.’
On to periods. Does the tampon lady still come into schools? I hope so because I can’t imagine Dad sitting you down and explaining how a tampon works. When I was eleven, all the girls in my year were called to a special assembly. A lady wearing jeans and a fluffy jumper stood in front of us andshowed us pictures of ovaries on the overhead projector.
‘You will probably start your periods sometime before your fifteenth birthday,’ she announced cheerfully.
I can’t remember much about the rest of the talk, except she held up a teacup and said that a whole period would only fill up half a teacup – I think that was supposed to reassure us – and that when we first tried to use a tampon we should take a pet into the toilet to help us relax. I don’t think I’ve made the last bit up.
Anyway, me and Mrs Miggins (my hamster) waited and waited for the big day. Finally, when I was about one week off my fifteenth birthday I saw a tiny brown spot in my knickers. YES!!!! I rushed out of the toilet and got my hamster. Now Gramps had made a complicated living arrangement for Mrs Miggins: two double-storey cages joined by a tunnel. Laboriously, I moved her home into the toilet then squeezed in next to the cages.
Mrs Miggins climbed to the top of one of her cages and hung by two paws, swinging and watching me with her beady black eyes. She was making me feel self-conscious so I gave her some toilet paper to distract her. She started shredding it and stuffing it in her cheeks. I squeezed down on to the floor next to her and watched her for a while. Then I picked up my mum’s ‘Take a Break’ magazine. I was starting to feel relaxed … maybe that tampon lady knew what she was talking about.
When we emerged from the toilet an hour later, I’d had zero tampon success, but Mrs Miggins had made a huge nest and I’d read about a woman who had a growth removed from her stomach. The growth was exactly the same shape as Italy!
On to the main event. Kissing. When I was sixteen and a half, my Sixth Form had a Christmas party. I was certain that every girl in my yearhad been kissed by now and I was getting desperate. I decided
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