Memories and elephants are playing in the band.

I still know most of the words to Baby Got Back. Normally I pat myself on the back when I remember them, congratulating myself on my hip-ness. Today though, I wish I could forget them. Not that those are the lyrics presently on rotation in my brain (I have to blame Elvis for my present ‘Love Me Tender’ jag, but he’s dead so I don’t think he’ll care..) but they’re taking up room SOMEWHERE and I’d like to use that space for something a little more constructive and useless.

Memory is an amazing thing – smells conjure up recollections of teenage crushes, sounds of geckos the heady days of sneaking out at night and back in the morning before anyone noticed, that particular shade of baby blue reminding me of my Grandma. I've a very visual memory, which is fantastic for finding the keys and embarrassing for most of my teenage years. Sometimes, memory likes to shed the skin of pleasant reminiscences and rear the ugly head of ‘gosh, I wish I forgot that’.

We visited some friends the other day and for the first time I hung out properly with some folk I went to high school with. Let’s call them Nigel & Nancy. There we were, four adults (hubbie met them for the 1st time) and all I had going through my head was the time I admired Nigel as he stood in front of a bonfire clad only in ren & stimpy boxer shorts on a school camp. And how Nancy flashed me her breasts in year 11, and then commenced to make out with 2 guys simultaneously. Some things just stick in your memory, you know?

I wouldn’t mind losing some memories, so that I can move on without seeing flashes of naked flesh while we’re being very civilised over tea and cake.

The Sisterhood isn't sacred, and that's ok.

I’ve never been a girl-girl. Growing up, my closest mates were boys, or tomboyish girls like myself. I tell you this, so that you’ll understand how disturbing the circumstances I’m about to relate to you truly are.

Up until 3 nights ago, I would have laughed in your face and possibly pushed you into a conveniently places wall or pot plant if you suggested that I, as a married woman, was part of the sisterhood.

What IS the sisterhood? I’ve a vague notion of boy bands, communal bikini-line plucking and talking about the joys of menstruation… and none of that really sounds like my cup of tea. It turns out though that I was wrong, and I didn’t realise it until I was betrayed. Until WE were betrayed, fellow lady friends.

My husband and I had another couple over for lunch. They’re probably our closest ‘couple’ friends (lets call them Bob and Betty) – I have my mates, Hubbie has his, but Bob & Betty are OURS. Anyway, we were watching TopGear and laughing at the silly car men when Betty came out with ‘you know, it’s so great that we women can get guys to do whatever we like, just by praising them.’

There was silence in the room (broken only by Jeremy Clarkson saying something faintly offensive about Bolivians), before I nervously laughed at the thoughtful looks on both men’s faces. Thankfully, at that moment someone drove into James’ May’s car, and the moment passed.

I sit here a little confused and disturbed at how strong my initial urge was to throttle her. I mean, hubby is a wonderful man, but encouragement goes a long way towards emptied bins, stirred sauces and fed puppy. I knew this wasn’t my secret alone, but I really hoped that a) I wasn’t being manipulative and b) that Hubby wouldn’t realise I actually was being quite manipulative.

By typing this, I realise some men will read it. And you know what? I think that’s ok, because guys have known what we’re doing the whole time when we praise, and they don’t mind. And that’s why I won’t have to collect the mail or clean up the coffee machine when I get home tonight.