If My Vagina Could Talk or How to Spend a Saturday Afternoon

If mine could talk, it would say "Not tonight, Josephine".

I had a lovely Saturday with my good friend Peg and of course, you can tell from the blog title what we were doing. Yes, it was The Vagina Monologues.

It has been on all week and the theatre it was performed at has a fab restaurant downstairs. I know the manager and he was saying he could not believe how many women there had been in all week. Demanding starters and sweets and fancy coffees and shrieking, oh the shrieking! He was about deafened by all the oestrogen.

Well, I was one of those shrieking women and it was a hoot. I had read enough about the show to know what it was all about but the tears and laughter and female empathy did this poor woman's tired and empty heart good. I was worried that I would lose the plot due to the hormones (and 2 gin and tonics ha!). The poem about the Bosnian women and the rapes led me to shed quite a few tears and I battled with no handkerchief handy. However, I always have a sleeve.

My mood was restored during the audience participation where we had to shout out the pejorative C word very loudly and with gusto. I think the blue rinse brigade were having some trouble with that one but us rambunctious 40 year olds were having none of that nicety business. I roared, with all my heart and soul, for all the women who could not roar.