Sigmund thinks my decision to show respect for other animals and turn veggie is the sign he’s been waiting for that I’m not just getting older; I’m growing up as well. He’s delighted to see me thinking for myself and accepting responsibility for my own life. (I don’t understand why he sounded so surprised.) Then he said that at least I was doing better than the “bloody government”. I bet the bloody government isn’t as hungry as I am though. I finished off the shepherd’s pie Mrs Kennedy left for the twins’ supper on Thursday before I remembered about being a vegetarian. I reckon it’s all right though, because she used mince and that doesn’t really count as meat either.
Willow said the giant chicken wasn’t a cosmic sign. She said he stands in front of that new chicken restaurant, handing out flyers. I said I didn’t think he really was a chicken (he was wearing trainers!), I just thought maybe the universe was trying to make me feel bad by putting him on my bus. Willow said he was just going to work. Which is probably why he looked depressed. I thought about that, and I can definitely understand it. What must it be like, getting up every morning and putting on this bright yellow chicken suit, knowing tomorrow you’re going to get up and do the same thing, and the next day, and the day after that … maybe for your whole life? (And I bet he’s paid chicken feed!) I will never take a job as a giant chicken, no matter how desperate I am for cash.
Sappho came over this afternoon with her new girlfriend, Mags (she’s nice; she looks normal), and a Congratulations on Becoming a Vegetarian present for me. I was braced for some more feminist propaganda (never mind the winter solstice, for my birthday she gave me this huge book on the history of the suffragettes – she couldn’t expect me to read it, so I reckoned I was meant to use it as a weapon), but what it was was this excruciatingly cool pair of purple combat trousers. Sappho said that every woman should own a pair, since they’re in combat most of their lives. I would’ve liked them a teeny bit darker, but last time I commented on something Sappho gave me she took it back, so I kept quiet. I think Mags must be a mellowing influence on Sappho.
Nan and Sappho are usually kept pretty much apart, because Nan thinks lesbians are really unchristian, and she made sure Sappho knew how she felt right from the first time they met, which was at the parents’ wedding. On that first, historic occasion, Sappho got melodramatic and stopped the band in mid-song by loudly demanding to know why it was all right for Jesus to hang out with whores but not with gay people. On this occasion, however, Nan got a lot of sympathy from Mags for her broken arm, which kept her happy. And even Sappho was impressed with Nan’s story (HORRIBLY EXAGGERATED, of course) of how she nearly caught the perpetrator because of her training in the war. Sappho said Nan was a closet feminist, and even Nan laughed. So anyway, we got through giving me my present and showing Mags the flat without too much trauma. But as soon as we sat down for tea Sappho started banging on about female sexuality (not that anybody asked). It was so très boring. Especially if you’ve heard it all about six million times before. I was practically asleep when Nan suddenly shot to her feet, shouting, “I never had one of those things, and it didn’t do me any harm!” It was pretty dramatic, with the sling and all. I had no idea what “things” she was talking about but she definitely had my attention. Sappho put on her best professor of women’s studies voice and said, “Mrs Bandry, are you saying you’ve never had an orgasm?” This is not a word I’ve ever heard spoken aloud in our kitchen before. (In fact, I reckon it’s not something that’s happened very often in our house. If ever. The only sounds I’ve ever heard from the parents at night are either arguments or Sigmund’s snores.) I wasn’t alone. The Mad Cow spat the biscuit she was chewing right across the table. I thought she was going to choke to death. Mags asked if anybody wanted more tea.