I met a man recently, now a successful Irish singer-songwriter, on whom I once had a major, mostly unrequited crush.
Much time has passed. I no longer wear Pale Biscuit foundation by Rimmel or drink cider mixed with Guinness. Well not as much.
I was just thinking how wonderful it was that I could talk to this person without hyperventilating when he told me that, although he occasionally reads this column, the content is just not blokish enough for his liking. I suppose I should have retaliated with something along the lines of: "Well, I don't listen to your music, because it's not girlie enough for my liking." But that would have been a lie. The truth is I do, because it is. Sigh.
I can't help detecting a pattern here. At Listowel Writers' Week last month a bespectacled book lover who sells anchovies and olives in Temple Bar's food market told me that he wouldn't be attending my reading because he had "the wrong chromosomes". He did give me a slight discount on my anchovy fix the following Saturday, though. Swings and roundabouts, I suppose.
So with all this in mind I have to apologise in advance to readers who reckon my writing is more girlie than a Cheeky Girls convention and just as nauseating. Of course they probably aren't reading, but if they are, well, go chop some wood or something. Hunt. Gather. Kill some deer.
Because this week I want to talk about Bust. It's a magazine "for women with something to get off their chests" and is now officially my favourite magazine. I'm a Bust woman. Or I aspire to be.
I first heard about Bust from my MCYS (much cooler younger sister), who has moved in with me for a while. It's very handy having an MCYS in the house again. You learn stuff you don't need to know about how MySpace.com works, and you find yourself in debates about whether or not it is morally reprehensible to put The Diary of Anne Frank in the chick-lit section of your home library. (Verdict: it's acceptable as long as you keep her well away from books with pastel covers).
You get valuable insights into how it might feel to be dumped via instant messaging. Not good but not as bad as being dumped by Post-it, we decide. My MCYS cooks excellent American pancakes with maple syrup, knits scarves and even makes her own quilts. She's like a character from a 21st-century Little House on the Prairie. Think Laura Ingalls Wilder with supernaturally flaming red locks and an endearing attitude problem.
This MCYS has a subscription to Bust (but she calls it a "prescription"). The mag is American, comes out every two months and contains sections such as "The One Handed Read" - yes, it does mean what you think - and sparky features on women such as Bettie Page, 1950s icon and all-round patron saint of sexiness.
One particular article in the latest issue caught my eye. Any magazine that describes "fat" not as a "dirty word" but as a term "ripe for revoloutionary reclaiming" has my vote. "Big Love 101" was an article containing sex tips for folks "with more cushion for the pushin". At last!
Bust celebrates the diversity of womanhood at a time when most popular magazines are more concerned with encouraging women to become Identikit versions of ourselves.
When I was recently asked to review The Female Eunuch, Germaine Greer's republished feminist classic, recently, I was flattered but then secretly panicked that it would be too much like homework. And so it proved.
Bust is the opposite of homework. You learn plenty of things, but they are always presented in an entertaining way. In the "News from a Broad" section, you learn about how the reproductive rights of American women are being threatened. Or how in Spain the civil code has been amended to include a new stipulation in the marriage contract which states that men must share housework and child-rearing duties equally.
Bust is a fount of knowledge and wisdom of which even Greer would approve. Even the ads tell you something you didn't know. Apparently the average woman will use about 17,000 disposable tampons and pads throughout her menstruating life.
And to counter this, a company has invented towels and tampons made from sea sponge or cotton which can be washed and used again for years. They come in pretty colours and are called GladRags. Honestly. Too girlie for you? Oops, I did it again. www.bust.com, www.gladrags.com