What is a smaggle? It is a hybrid of a smash and a snuggle. It is also the name on one of my new favourite bloggers. If I was the editor of WHO magazine, I would totally put her on the cover of the Most Beautiful Issue. I met her at the recent Problogger Day and it was love at first sight, well for me anyway. And she is wickedly funny and also just wicked.
Visit her blog at http://www.smaggle.com/ and follow her on twitter at @LadySmaggle .
You will not be sorry.
Always eloquent and ever appropriate, our dear Mrs Woog recently tweeted the question ‘What song was playing when you lost your virginity?’ I believe her own answer was something along the lines of Bon Jovi and St Murphy made a mention of Madonna.
Me? It was Jack Johnson’s Bubble Toes from Brushfire Fairytales. Yep. 2002 was the year the You’re A Woman Now Fairy plied with me too much cheap beer and took my girlhood forever.How old was I in 2002? Why I was nineteen, thanks for asking. I know what you’re thinking. Is she Christian? No, I am not. Is she hideous? I’m no Elle Macpherson, but I think most desperate men would do me in an emergency. And I agree with you, any gal with a normal libido, no morals and a decent rack would be pushing it to keep her hymen in tact until her 16th birthday, but not me. And it’s all my mother’s fault. I’m about to share a story that scarred me for life.
When I was 16 years old, my mother worked as nurse. One day, she came home from work with two over stuffed display folders, full of tatty printed photographs. No, I was not about to have ‘the talk’. I never actually had ‘the talk’. The children of nurses rarely get ‘the talk’. I just absorbed the filth of my mother’s daily chatter so I don’t remember ever not knowing about sex. In my house, a simple question like ‘Why is that man wearing high heels?’ could lead to a full explanation of the particulars of anal sex. Often with accompanying diagrams.
Anyway, back to the books. My mother casually handed me the first book, saying it was something interesting she found at work. It was filled with photographs of food complaints. Bags of lollies with rusty nails in them, jars of jam with band aids floating on the surface and my personal favourite, the mouse wheat bix where a mouse had fallen in the machinery at the factory and had been punched into a perfect oblong of half mouse/half wheat bix. There was also a picture of a residential swimming pool that was filled with 82 dead pigeons. It was the greatest book ever. I eagerly reached for the second book, wondering how it could possibly get any better than the first.
It couldn’t.
The second book was filled with page after page of photos of rotting genitals. Every size, every shape, every colour of the rainbow... including green. Sometimes I couldn’t even tell if I was looking at a taco or a sausage. I’m one of those people who can’t look away from a train wreck so I eyeballed every photo, the images of masses of unrecognisable flesh burning into my retinas. I silently closed the book and stared up at my mother.
She took the book from me, triumphantly chirping ‘That’s what happens if you have unprotected sex!’ and joyfully skipped from the room. And that, my friends is why I didn’t let a snake in my lady garden until I was nearly twenty years old, lest my nether regions start to resemble a meat lovers pizza. It’s also why, I have never, ever, not once in my life had unprotected sex. Well played, mother.
This article was supposed to be about losing my virginity but to be honest, I had really bad sex three times that year and I can’t tell when the official event occurred. The Jack Johnson time was my favourite, so let’s pretend it was then.
What song was playing when you lost your virginity?
And how old were you?
