On way to supermarket I realise I have forgotten my purse. I start walking back, jump in a kind of cab, reach destination, driver stops. I say, “how did you know this is where I needed to be? He says, “I didn’t, this is Marks and Spencers.” Stop! Other celeb in cab with us. Is Jennifer Hudson the driver or the celeb? Driver says, “Your stop is just here round other side of the building.” What, the huge tower block across the road from my flat? When we get out I realise I do not have my shoes on. I start to go back to the cab but realise I left them in the other cab I took earlier with the same driver. I have to do without them. Inside this venue Madonna is sat on a bar stool with a man. She has cheap blue and white label Tesco roll-on deodorant. She puts some on her underarm and tells her male companion to smell it ’cause it smells like p***y.
I’m sorry I dreamt it but I now seem to have a complete inability to write that word. Madonna wouldn’t be so bashful would she? The whole affair seems to be totally distasteful and what the hell does it have to do with lost shoes? Do they symbolise my virginity (which has been long since lost, by the way). Does Jennifer Hudson symbolise my weight gain and does my disgust at p***y deodorant signify a kind of sexual repression. Just at this moment when I am writing about virginity I am kind of half listening to a new show from Sex and the City writer Candace Bushnell called Lipstick Jungle which focuses on the friendship between 3 career women. Right at the end of the first episode Brooke Shield’s character says, “I was wearing mocasins when I lost my virginity.” At this point I had to call my long suffering boyfriend from the kitchen complaining that I could not remember when I lost my virginity. Having been the one who shared in the experience I thought he might provide me with the slightest of clues. He thought about it for many moments after which he declared, “I dunno…1995?” The fool. “You’re such an idiot,” I say. “I don’t mean the year. I mean where we were, what were the circumstances.” But who am I to chastise him. I’m the one dreaming about eau de p***y. It seems that in age both my morals and my memory are failing me.
Now, my boyfriend’s questioning me to find out who i know whose armpit smell’s of p***y? What the hell kind of question is that? I don’t exactly go round smelling other people’s armpits do I?
Bulge Head 