Secret Girls' Stuff

by Margaret Clark

  That’s disgusting. They’re so old!

  But worse even than that. While we were away the fuses blew or something and the electricity was off for three days and my orchids went mouldy in the fridge. I was so mad. My first ever flowers from a boy and I wanted to press them in a book and keep them forever. Maybe I’ll press them anyway and keep the orchid stems.

  I’ve still got one of those orchid stems! I’ve also got letters from boyfriends, the lover’s knot brooch that Anton Bowler gave me, the friendship ring that Anton Bowler gave me, one of my tulle petticoats, a pair of winklepicker shoes, an address book with all my boyfriends’ addresses (half of them are probably dead of old age by now), my teen diary, my old autograph book, old jewellery and coins, my old stamp album, pressed flowers, birthday, Valentine’s Day and postcards from boyfriends, theatre programs, and empty perfume bottles. I kept everything on top of my wardrobe in shoe boxes. My family thought they were shoes.

  It’s important to have your own secret place for important and private things. I had my wardrobe booby-trapped just in case someone decided to check the boxes. I was pretty sure Mum wouldn’t get up to look because she was short and chunky but I knew my sister could pull out my drawers and use them as steps to get up there. So I had a mouse-trap set to go off and a whopping big bag of marbles balanced on the wardrobe door so that if she tried it, they’d fall on her head and kill her.

  Luckily that didn’t happen, and my secret stuff stayed private and confidential till I moved out of home to get married and took it all with me.

  4

  Boys

  Whenever I read my old diary most of the entries have something to do with boys. And my friends. And secrets.

  Dear Diary,

  I have just realised something. There’s not a lot of time between a nice yellow banana you pack for lunch and a forgotten rotten banana in the bottom of your school bag. But sometimes there is a lot of time between someone nice turning out rotten in your life. Yesterday Sandra Weymouth stole Stanley Hooper. I forgot to write that Stanley Hooper is the most fab guy on this entire planet and I was going to the movies with him on Saturday afternoon. He chose ME. But now I’m NOT going because Sandra Weymouth told him (because Ally was listening and she told ME) that Sandra said that I was going to stand him up, so he’d be better to take her because she wouldn’t stand him up. Sandra is no friend of mine now and forever more amen.

  You know, I really should never have trusted Sandra Weymouth. She became my best friend briefly when Ally went on holidays.

  Dear Diary,

  Sandra told me to wear my new white pedal-pushers down the street. I didn’t want to because my sister told me they made my bum look big and my stomach look fat. Sandra said, ‘Oh, no. You look fab.’ We went to the milk bar and in front of two guys Sandra managed to spill a whole Cherry Cola Float on me so I looked like I had my period and also that I’d caked myself.

  Now that’s when I should have known she wasn’t trustworthy even when she said it was an accident.

  Dear Diary,

  Sandra Weymouth got dumped by Stanley Hooper after he’d gone out with her for two whole Saturdays, so now we’re friends again, and she’s been crying every night for a week on the phone, in my bedroom, in the school dunnies, behind the sheltersheds and in science class behind the bunsen burners. I didn’t know someone could have so much water inside them.

  True.

  Then:

  Dear Diary,

  Yes, yes YES. I’m going out with Stanley Hooper. He asked me to the movies. At last. What will I wear? What will I do if he puts his hand in my bra? There’s a rumour he did it to Minnie Martin in the back row. Only he UNDID her bra. I don’t care if he does put his hand in my bra because I have two boobs the same size now. Oh, thank you God.

  Then:

  He’s a rotten two-timing bastard. I HATE Stanley Hooper. He went round to Sandra Weymouth’s place and climbed in her bedroom window and tried to put his hand in her knickers. She’s told everyone and now girls won’t go out with him including ME. We have to be virgins till we get married. It’s the rule. So it’s too risky to go out with Stanley Hooper. Sandra Weymouth is now going with Emile (who’s six foot something and she’s five foot nothing) and she told me her neck is KILLING her. She said he kisses on average every three minutes. My granny put some ointment on it for her and said, ‘If you’re an ant don’t go out with a giraffe.’ I was so embarrassed.

  I don’t know whether girls today talk about boys, how they kiss, the moves they make, and give them a point score.

  We had a no sex rule. If you did it, it was called ‘going the whole way’, and you were a total slut. We had to be virgins when we got married because, as my granny always said, ‘Boys don’t want shopsoiled goods.’

  The girls ran the courting process and we had a big turnover of boys, because when things started getting too hot we usually got scared and dumped them. Or sometimes they got scared and dumped us.

  My girlfriends and I had a numbered code (later I found out that practically every group of girls in Australia had the same code, and even in the UK, because Val and her friends had a similar code too).

  And when I do author talks to girls in schools and mention the old code they nudge each other and giggle so I guess a lot of you still have these codes.

  Our code went 1 to 10 only we never usually went further than five, because once the boy got excited it wasn’t fair to go further than that without doing it. Stanley Hooper told Sandra Weymouth that if she didn’t let him do it, his balls would blow up. We never found out if they did or not. This was the code:

  Hold hands. (no mouth-kissing on the first date)

  The boy could put his arm round you.

  Kissing on the mouth, lips open.

  Boy could touch your boobs on the outside of your clothes.

  Boy could touch your boobs on the inside of your bra. (this was called petting)

  Boy could put his tongue in your mouth.

  Boy could touch you on the inside of your thighs.

  Boy could put his hand in your knickers. (this was called heavy petting and by this stage of your life you were practically engaged)

  Boy could put fingers inside you. (you were practically married)

  You did it. (honeymoon)

  So you can see that when Stanley Hooper broke the rule he was an outcast!

  And girls fell in and out of love very quickly at age fifteen.

  Dear Diary,

  The fewer promises you make the more you can keep. I think. I promised Johnnie Samotini I’d go out with him. Why did I do this? I know. Because I felt sorry for him. It was a spur of the moment thing. Then Ally, Janice, Yvonne and of course big mouth Sandra Weymouth said ‘You’re not going out with HIM, are you? He’s in the Mafia.’ Johnnie Samotini’s breath stinks of garlic because he’s Italian. And Italians are supposed to have hot Mediterranean blood different to other boys and Sandra Weymouth said they have Roman fingers.

  Sorry, everyone, but I don’t know whether I went out with John Samotini or not, and I think he was supposed to have roaming fingers, not Roman ones. I vaguely think that I squibbed out and stayed over at Ally’s place and listened to records. In other words, I stood him up. Have you ever stood anyone up or had them stand you up? I don’t know what you call it now. It means you don’t turn up for the date.

  Have you ever been on a blind date? I went on a couple and some turned out okay and some were a disaster:

  Dear Diary,

  I’ll never go on a blind date again. It was so embarrassing. It was with Yvonne’s cousin and we were double-dating to the movies. First I couldn’t see a thing because I didn’t want to be a square and wear my glasses. Well, I was going to put them on in the dark but I was too busy controlling my date called Kenny Toogood and he wasn’t. He was a human octopus. I couldn’t see him properly so I whispered to Ally who was sitting in front of us, ‘What’s he look like?’ and she said, ‘He’s got sticky-out teeth.’ I found that out w
hen he kissed me. Double ERK

  Somewhere in this world there is a fifty-year-old male called Kenny Toogood. I wonder if he’s still groping and sleazing, or if his brain was sued when he was dragged into a courtroom case for sexual harassment! Maybe he respects women now.

  Girls can cause trouble too. Not usually by sexual harassment but by being jealous.

  Dear Diary,

  Does Helen Hornby have a headache from wearing a halo? She told John our youth club leader that Ollie Watson put his hand up my jumper. First of all I can’t stand Ollie Watson. Second of all he’s a square and religious and wouldn’t do it. And third of all she is busting for Ollie Watson to put his hand up HER jumper. Now I’m banned from youth club for two weeks. The way I feel I mightn’t ever bother going back!

  I know that girls today go out on blind dates because I get emails and letters telling me about it. Here’s one from Georgie, age fourteen. She’d written to me before.

  >From: Georgie

  >To: Margaret

  >Date:

  hi marget,

  it’s georgie again. how’s your new book coming along? well, i went out on my first blind date and, like, it was soooo uncool and embarrassing i just wish i could’ve crawled into a cave. my so called friend set it up because it was her cousin and we were going to the movies. she wasn’t allowed out with her boyfriend michael on her own and like, she had to take this cousin robbie too. she showed me a photo and robbie looked gorgeous so i got all dressed up in new jeans and a top, spent all my pocket money and guess what? it turned out robbie was in Grade Six! i felt like i had a toy boy. i’ll never speak to shona again and i’ll never go out on a blind date again i swear.

  I wrote back

  >From: Margaret

  >To: Georgie

  >Date:

  Dear Georgie,

  I know you feel stupid about being in Year Eight and going out with a boy in Grade Six, but it could have been worse. What if you’d been going to a party or a school prom and you’d had to dance with your chin on his head? Cheer up. Tell Shona no more blind dates with boys younger than you and look on it as a world experience. Blind dates are like lucky dips. Sometimes you get a great prize and sometimes it’s a dud. That’s the luck of the draw. Bye from Margaret (um, it’s spelt like this, not Marget.)

  This boy-n-girl thing is always fraught with drama when you’re starting off. Most girls go through a number of relationships with boys, but some don’t.

  One of my good friends, Gwen met Alan when they were both sixteen, got married at twenty-one and they are still together after about thirty-five years and they’ve never been out with other people on romantic dates. (Well, I don’t think so.)

  Sometimes love at first sight lasts; sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it doesn’t get much of a chance, as this extract from an email from Sasha, age fifteen, indicates:

  >From: Sasha

  >To: Margaret

  >Date:

  So, I’m on this holiday in America and it’s, like, freeeeeezzzzing there. We were just back from Disneyland and staying in this hotel. I went for a swim in the heated pool (it was snowing outside) And I met the BEST THE BEST THE BEST GUY. I mean, he was cuter than the cute guy from White Squall, cuter than the guy whose hair snaps off, but he’s not hot anyway, cuter than Brad Pitt and everyone else who is supposedly cute, they are ugly compared to this guy. YIIPPPPEEEE. A total babe.

  AGGGHHHHHHHH. I’ll give you his details. Okay, he’s my height and a bit taller (yay) and he’s 16 (my height and 16, wow), has gorgeous sexy green eyes, blond hair that he spikes up (drool!!), a FANTASTIC smile, perfect teeth (I almost fainted every time he smiled at me), hot AS body, he’s so funny and smart and nice and totally GORGEOUS!!!!! The only downside is his name, not that it’s bad, just different. I had to get him to say it four times, very embarrassing. But it’s Esra, it sounds like a girl’s name. And worse, when I told my parents later and they were trying to figure out the spelling, my sister pointed out that it spelt arse backwards. Yes, ARSE. Bloody typical Sigh. My family had a great time with THAT. grrrrrrr. But his name isn’t that big a deal.

  It’s pretty cool. Anyway, I was swimming in the pool and this god of a guy surfaces next to me, and I’m like, whoa, is he HOT. So I went and hopped in the spa and watched him for a while, playing with his brother.

  Then my sister wanted me to get back in the pool and we had the usual splashing fight. Then she started spitting in my face and pulling my hair, and I was like, ‘That’s ENOUGH’ and I was just standing there when Esra swam up with his brother clinging onto him and pulling his hair and goes, ‘Don’t you just hate younger sisters and brothers’, and I’m like, Omigod, he SPOKE to ME and I go, ‘Yup.’ Then we sorta swam round together for a while and talked about life and about where we live, what we like to do … and I found out he lives in California and liked snowboarding and surfing and plays basketball and soccer. And we talked about movies and music we like, and we liked THE SAME STUFF. We were meant for each other. Then we hopped in the spa (both our siblings were in the pool) and we were just holding hands and talking and he kept smiling at me and I’m like YIPPPEEEE and then DISASTER, he tells me he’s leaving the next day (God really does not like me) but he said he’d come swimming in the morning (but my parents had booked a tour to Universal Studios leaving at 6.30am and hadn’t told me), so we were just in the spa, so close, I was practically sitting on him, and Dad kept coming out and telling me to come up to the room, and I’m gritting my teeth and like, ‘Daaad! I neeeed some more time!’, hinting and nodding my head at Esra, then his parents came out and told him he had to be in his room in fifteen minutes. So we went back to the lifts together and I wanted so much to tell him how much I liked him but his brother was in the lift with us giving me the greasies … and Esra was on level 3 and I was on 5 so he got out at his level and was trying to ask me what level I was … and the DOORS SHUT!!!! And they wouldn’t friggin open, and I’m like NOOOOOOO!!!!! And I didn’t ever see him again. Sigh. We didn’t even say goodbye properly. And get this, I didn’t even get his address or email or ANYTHING. I’m getting depressed thinking about it. AGGGHHHHHHH.

  Poor Sasha. But then if this love is meant to be, it will happen. Fate has a way of making things work out. But personally I think it’s emotionally healthier to date a number of boys because then you can get an idea of what you want in a partner. And it’s okay to really be mad on a boy then go off him when you find out what he’s really like. That’s the purpose of dating. As my granny always said, ‘Try before you buy.’

  Dear Diary,

  I’ve been going with Anton Bowler since Tuesday. I’m taller than him. Well, practically every girl is taller than him. I have to wear flat shoes and walk round with my knees bent when I’m with him otherwise I can see his dandruff. He’s rich, that’s why I’m going with him. Already he’s bought me an orchid in a plastic box and some Black Magic chocolates.

  I was a mean cow wasn’t I? Back then an orchid in a plastic box was kind of like a dozen long-stemmed red roses today.

  Often we valued our boyfriends by what they gave us. You might think this was awful. Or maybe you still do it. You see, most women seem to equate a boy’s love and admiration with what they spend on her. It probably goes back to caveman days when the guy lugged in a dinosaur and said, ‘Here, darling, I brought you a present.’

  There’s this sort of thinking that if the boy really likes/loves you he’ll buy you nice things to show this. Then of course you have to show your girlfriends. The more expensive the present, the better the status. That’s how it works.

  Most boys don’t know this. They know that girls like flowers and chocolates. They don’t know why. They can’t understand why girls get upset when boys forget birthdays, the second ‘anniversary’ of the first date last month, or when they buy crappy stuff and they think it’s lovely.

  When I was going with my husband-to-be I really wanted an orchid to wear on my dress. They were expensive. But it was a sort of trophy.r />
  You had to have an orchid. And he couldn’t understand why I bawled for an hour and wouldn’t talk to him and was so upset when he bought me a whopping great bunch of gladiolis because he ‘got more flowers for the money’. You see?

  Boys seem more sophisticated now. Most of them do seem to turn up with the red roses and chocolates. Sometimes they do it because they like you. Sometimes they are “trying to get in your knickers” (as my granny always said).

  For whatever reason it’s nice to get gifts from boys.

  But back to Anton Bowler and the dilemma of rich guy, square creep. What do I do?

  Dear Diary,

  I’ve just learned that you can’t be everyone’s best friend. Flora McDonald’s told me that she’s changed her mind and I’m NOT coming to her party if I bring Anton Bowler because he’s too short and he’ll spoil the photos. What a hag! So. Do I dump him so I can go to the party or what? Ally says no, and she won’t go to Flora’s dumb party either. But the whole school will be there, well, practically.

  Anton’s promised to take me to Brian Henderson’s Bandstand on TV live because he says his uncle’s the producer or something. Personally, I think Flora’s cut about me going with Anton because he’s rich. I think I’ll be a social outcast and not go to her dumb party.

  Okay, I’d made my decision. I was going with Anton Bowler even though there wasn’t a hope in hell that I’d fall in love with him. I wanted to be the only girl in school to be seen jiving in the audience on live TV all over Australia even if it meant going steady with a square creep like Anton who had the personality of a tampon. When I think about it, some women actually marry slugs like Anton so they can have the rich lifestyle.