Meeting up in Kensington to buy organic 'supplies' at Whole Foods (apple and chutney chicken liver pâté, porcini mushrooms and vine ripened cherry tomatoes to name a few) we were forced to board three separate trains to get back to Balham, thanks to yet more engineering works taking place on the underground. Once home, said-Besties delighted in the new abode, offered their congratulations and praise for its fastidious cleanliness and then proceeded to get comfortable.
Contrary to male belief such female gatherings do not take place in the nude, however, to be sure, bras are quickly removed and restrictive skinny jeans are changed in favour of trackpants and comfy t-shirts. And while it would be nice for guys to think that girls spend all their time cooing over their significant others, the truth is often far less refined. Saturday evening's conversation enjoyed a fair amount of time on bodily fluids and functions, with one friend suffering from three days of unwarranted (in her mind) constipation and all three of us battling out of the blue period-like pains. Not pleasant, but a relief nonetheless, to be able to talk so openly and compare notes on inevitable life pains that good girls aren't meant to suffer from.
It was refreshing to see celebration of similar female faux pas at Sunday evening's screening of Sex and the City. Yes, she's well-on two months late and yes, the film's probably just about to hit the DVD shelves but with her busy work schedule taking time out with her girlfriends has fallen to the wayside. Two-and-a-half hours of covet-worthy couture and emotional ups-and-downs (a large popcorn and bag of skittles) later, the Assistant and two other time-poor girlfriends nattered over the successes of this much anticipated silver screen finale as the credits closed and the rest of the audience hustled out of the cinema. Their conclusion: Fabulous!
Truly there is no better therapy than giggling with your girlfriends.
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