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This Is What Girls Actually Talk About

I won't lie to you, boys; it can get pretty mean and gross.

My friend broke up with her boyfriend the other day because of a butt dial. Or rather he broke up with her because, after years and years of being together, he finally got a clear view of what women's brains look like when they find themselves hunkered down in a safe haven with other people who have boobs. Which is to say: absolute filth.

Dolores (that's what we'll call my friend) had just picked up her friend Consuela (that's what we'll call her friend) from the airport. Consuela is studying Archaeology at the Sorbonne and the two girls hadn't seen each other for a few months. The conversation that took place on the ride home included the following sentences:


"He has the most beautiful set of pubic hair I've ever seen."

"I only gagged 'cause his dick made me sick."

"I've been taking it up the arse for ages, and you managed to get haemorrhoids just from shitting?"

"…and then I ate it."

I'm not sure if the guy's problem was some sort of Madonna-whore complex or – as he claimed – genuine disappointment that an educated, middle-class woman could resort to such "silliness". All I know is, if it was the latter, he should take her back – she did nothing women all over the world haven't been doing since Eve told that snake about Adam's tiny dick. In truth, women talk about sex so frequently and in so much detail that it can get pretty mean and pretty gross very quickly.

But hey, that doesn't mean we don't love you. We haven't lost our depth and no, it has nothing to do with Samantha from SATC either; that show finished four years ago, get some new fucking references. Women talk. To avoid upsetting yet more men in the future, here are a few more things that girls talk about when they hang out with other girls.


Let's start with the obvious one. Women love talking about dicks. We talk about your dick, we talk about what kind of dick our friends have been getting, and we talk about every other dick we've ever seen in our life, anywhere. Dicks that belong to our ex-boyfriends, our ex-lovers, our dad's that one time he forgot to lock the bathroom door, pigeon dicks and dicks that look like pigeons.

We describe their length, girth and pivoting angle with hand motions, draw shapes on bar napkins and say shit like: "I just like to fold it endlessly until it becomes a tiny snail." We don't have one, which makes us endlessly fascinated and curious about it. Frankly, some of you could use a little more curiosity in that department, too.


Plus they change shape constantly, they're easy to imagine with faces and they feel like this slightly separate entity that you can play with, without absolutely having to get emotionally attached. Like mascots!


I had no idea what a handjob was until my best friend's dad died. We were about 15, sitting in her bedroom after the wake and I told her about how I thought that to achieve an erection, boys had to slap their dicks upwards, like a paramedic trying to rouse a comatose drunk. She corrected me by demonstrating the technique on a teddy bear, and after a few minutes of this we pledged to forget forever about that terrible day.

More recently, I was told that boys like it when you lick upwards once on the left, once on the right and once in centre. Nope.


Love is about accepting each other's weaknesses. So, in order for me to process and expel the image of you drunk and crying because you're having a cocaine freakout while dressed as Tweety Pie at a freshers' party, and still be able to fuck you after that – I'm going to have to tell my friends.

Similar stories include:

The time you broke your banjo string and fainted in my bath.

The time there was a "bit of poo" on my back.

The time you made me sleep on the couch after our first date AKA one-night stand.

The time you asked if we could make out in the lift because your girlfriend was asleep in your flat.



The way I see it, dating people is the easiest way to explore the world without travelling. Every single person I've dated has taught me things about culture, class, aesthetics and the viscosity of bodily fluids without even having to get out of bed, let alone fly to another country in a tiny, orange fartbox at 39,000 feet.

That includes the girl who took me on a tour of France's Michelin star restaurants, the guy who gave me warts, the dude who broke up with me when we were 13 'cause he wanted to try to finger my friend, the man I dated for half my life and all the babes I fucked in between.

I'm not a selfish person – I like to share that knowledge. Whether you are looking for French bistros or STD clinics, girl, I am sure I can advise. Unfortunately, you're just going to have to hear about that ex and their weird penchant for licking my ass but never my pussy, too.


You don't have to be an insecure mess to stalk someone's ex on Facebook – you just have to be healthily curious. My friends are largely confident women who truly believe that they are much smarter, better looking, more stylish and cultivated than your ex. Yet they'll still bitch about how silly or poorly dressed that ex is, and sometimes we'll get drunk and scour their FB pages and laugh our heads off, too.

It's not jealousy, it's worrying that we're selling ourselves short.



This is similar to the ex-girlfriend situation – we'll describe her to each other in detail, fret about the smell and if we get the chance, we'll show her to our friends to get a second opinion.


Whether we just did or need to do one, our friends for some reason need to get the proper lowdown. This particularly applies on girly holidays.

Other popular phrases include: "God, I can't stop farting today"; "Here's a picture of that turd I found waiting for me in the ladies'"; "I really don't remember pushing a second tampon up there without taking out the other one first" and "I swear I'm gonna hunt down and kill the bitch who Three Mile Islanded the office toilet". These are all sentences I heard in the past couple of weeks at parties, pubs and over lunch.


There you go. Sorry if we grossed you out. Now you know why your lady friends sometimes get silent and weird when you come out of the toilet at the pub.