My first pair of matching underwear

There are some moments in any girl or woman’s life that can be considered momentous, though not necessarily as society sees it. The first kiss for example, is a conventionally memorable occasion. I know many people, male and female, remember the first kiss. It’s often a mixture of ‘eeeuuuw’ and ‘how the hell did she learn how to do that?’ shock. There are few things that can rival that moment. I remember mine so clearly. I was 13 and really liked this boy, so much so, he was often allowed to stand at the front door and hide from my brothers and parents. It was true puppy love. The first time he kissed me was awkward. I had never realised that I had a large, rather imposing nose or that teeth could bash quite so violently into each other. The wet feeling stays with you forever, because of course we had never learnt to swallow our own spit before the kiss, so it was a bit of a slippery mess. But the moment had been achieved- my first kiss. I ran home and picked up the phone (no mobile phones then), and called as many girlfriends as I could to rehash the details, embellishing the story of course (one had to look really slick and make it seem really grown-up, a little taboo, and oh so much fun). I am pretty sure my mother was wise to my escapades, because I had the constant shakes and she reminded more than once that there were plenty of toilets in the house, if I was so inclined. Losing one’s virginity is probably just as harrowing an experience, and always more awkward than any book or TV show (even Mills and Boon), could ever describe. It always makes me laugh that people hang onto the experience of losing something- the irony in that. These are just some of the things one should never forget, along with wedding anniversaries, memorials of loved ones lost, the birth of their children (and subsequent birthdays...I might send this to my parents as a hint), their first proper heart break, and such like things.

The moments that are most interesting however, are the more controversial ones, and the ones we never jot down in ye old mental diary. I am pretty sure most girls remember the first time their period was late. Many things go through your mind. Most of the virgins wonder if the story they heard about ‘getting pregnant by sitting on sperm on the bus seat’ could be true. The more adventurous amongst us struggle to find bank statements to check if they paid £20 for the morning after pill at any point during the last month. Then the wait begins. It’s torture. You are desperate for your period to announce itself, but you’re also paranoid that you’ll be caught unawares and so you set alarms at 3 am just to make sure that you don’t destroy your sheets, or boyfriend’s sheets. Obviously when it does arrive, it’s possibly the most painful one you’ve ever had, with torturous cramps, but for the first time in your life, you smile through the pain, and even go out dancing to celebrate!

A girl’s first ‘red anything’ changes her. She develops an inexplicable sense of ‘joie de vivre’ because she feels incredibly sexy, people look at her, and she is suddenly very adult, changing her wardrobe so that there is something to go with her red accessory. I got my first pair of red shoes for my 18^th birthday. I had never thought of wearing red before, but these heels changed all that. Suede peep toes with a bow over the top would do that to anyone to be honest. I wanted to wear them to lectures, to church, and to the gym. I wanted to look sophisticated, but the need to wear them constantly probably had the opposite effect: I wore them with clothes that were far too short or revealing, and it was ‘Pretty Woman/ circa 1991’ all over again. I regretted my poor fashion choices, but I will always cherish those red shoes, they’ve shaped who I am today. Literally. My calves have included them in their living will and testament.

I also remember when I got my first pair of matching underwear. This was a moment of firsts. My then boyfriend got me a pair of matching lace underwear, in rose pink. I don’t know if he was trying to suggest that I was not feminine enough for him, but he certainly changed that if that was the case. Boys, lesson to you: if you want to change the girl, use presents (in pretty boxes with bows and scented beads, preferably lavender, or rose, cliché but still works). Anyway, I will never forget how lovely it was to wear soft underwear that looked the same, and was not patterned with Tiger from Winnie the Pooh (incidentally, do you think Winnie was gay?! Wasn’t it a male bear, but called Winnie?! Random thought). It was also the first intimate gift I had ever received and the only time a boy has bought me underwear. Let’s just say the character involved was well thanked. I am hooked on the good knickers' high; I have developed the taste by amassing many many  colours and loads of black ones (!!!), in different cuts and styles. Good underwear, the world would be worse off if it wasn’t for you. Look how you’ve changed lady’s bossoms and bottoms. The men of this earth salute you, and I have a man to thank for the discovery (he’s been upgraded from boy).

I weirdly keep a record of all the fights I’ve had with my closest friends. I know, it sounds strange, but there is logic to my obsession. I have always maintained that occasional fights are good for any relationship or friendship, because it reaffirms that it isn’t based on niceties, or saying what the other person wants to hear. I go one step further, because I often recognise flaws in myself when I fight with my friends. That’s why I hang on to these- it helps reinforce the things I need to improve, and makes me critical of my own character, even though it happens infrequently. My most exciting fight perhaps was a silent affair, conducted through emails and letters with a boy a few thousand miles away. We were both so honest it hurt, and even though it took me months to recover, the world is definitely a better place because of it. My friend quietened the bitch in me and made me realise how unattractive it was. His criticism made me stronger, more honest, and more willing to accept when I was wrong. So basically, remember all your fights, but only the good bits. Make up sex counts here.

A girl's first proper orgasm, not the little tingly 'I think I'll wee myself' ones, but the 'soul-shaking, mind-blowing, earth-moving' experiences, is definitely a MOMENTOUS OCCASION. A dodgy statistic suggests that women do not truly experience an orgasm until well into their thirties. Apparently this is is the age of sexual awakening, when one is more aware of what it is they want out of physical interaction, rather than worrying about what their belly looks like. My limited cross-sectional survey suggests every woman remembers this (only 6 people responded), because it is surprising that it can be quite so good and yet, it doesn't captivate you, and the boy/man doesn't have any power over you (this one is for the feminists out there, though I don't think they'll see this as 'female liberation'. I apologise).

My first shared bath with a non-partner was another memorable moment, for all the wrong reasons. I refer you to the earlier entry, ‘bathroom banter’. It was memorable because it was the first time I had done something completely out of character, and let my hair down in about 5 years. I am usually pretty uptight, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. The bath was at par with my first hangover. I remember the two occasions because I made a total idiot of myself, was laughed at, and swore that I would never be caught in the same situation ever again. These two events were separated by a few years, so I clearly hadn’t learnt my lesson. It did remind me that I am young, it’s good to laugh at oneself as often as possible, and necessary to gather some interesting anecdotes for the children (should they be unfortunate enough to have me as their mother). Serious never changed the world. Crazy did.