The other day I spent two blissful hours (we rewinded some parts) watching Dirty Dancing in Jenny's slammin' pad. Because Aoife, also known as 'she-who-scoffs' was not there I was free to squeal and sigh at all the good parts. The girls collectively frowned at me. 'I thought you wouldn't like this film', said Jenny, 'cos you're all cynical and un-girly'. This made me squeal even louder.
'Dude! I am extremely girly! I own a Dido album and a Robbie album! And I think, I think I used to own some kind of picture frame with pink fake fur round the sides!'
'Oh, right. Sorry. Obviously I forgot about those' she said with a roll of her eyes.
I don't know what she is talking about. I wore stockings on Saturday night! With lacy hold-ups! And seams down the back! So hot Mags felt the need to pull my skirt up and flash them at everyone all night. That was fine with me though, one less thing I needed to do myself. Yes, yes, so one broke and I spent most of the evening tugging it up from my knee and clamping it to my naturally lovely thigh with the lacy hold-up part, but the point is I bought and wore something entirely impractical and frivolous for purely decorative purposes. That's my idea of femininity anyway.