Advice for the Coming of Age Woman: Diary Entry

It’s funny. I found this in my diary. I thought I’d share it with you.

Advice for the Coming of Age

The Economics of a Girl

diary entry by Seven N Blue


When the woman becomes of age, she is full of unmanageable hormones. Anything that could possibly be done to have sex with her boyfriend, will be done. I remember, while still living under the strict surveillance of my Catholic parents, I myself had to become an expert strategist.


Alone time, in any place, divided by the rebellious hunger of a nearby willing one; equals “The Sin.”


Sex of any form, or any kind.


With the finger, or the mouth, or with a spoon.


The woman, coming of age, must plan to become an expert strategist.


Example: A two hour get-away.


“We’ll tell them we’re going to a movie,” she says.


“We’ll need to read up all about the movie,” he says. “In case they ask.”


“My parents?” she says.


“Your parents,” he says.


“What movie should we not see?” he asks.


Example: The Kitchen


The kitchen, with the smell of baked beans and cherry pie, is a sacred place for love making.


Of course, there is the oven issue.


Picture this:


The coming of age woman and her lover are sitting at the kitchen table. The oven’s glass door captures their reflection.  Her Catholic parents are in the living room watching a tele-evangelist raise his hand as he asks the crowd about getting saved. They feel easy.


The problem:


No kitchen sex can be had with the oven’s glass door reflection of the lovers.


The solution:


“Oh sweetheart, where did you find this magnificent Holy Grail Kitchen towel!” asks her mother.  “Let’s put it right on the over door for immediate use.”


Kitchen sex – of the manual kind at your parents’ house? Solved.


The bathroom, the water, the vapor of humidity softening the coming of age woman’s already peachy skin. The coming of age woman wants to take a shower with her lover. Commit the sin, underwater and with soap.


This is a testing task for the coming of age woman; the expert strategist.


Planning for sex, in the shower,  at her parents’ house, with her lover, will exceed her already expert strategy skills.


“The back door to the back door,” she says.


“The back door that leads to the back door of the guest bathroom on the first level?” asks her lover.


“My mother will start cooking the potatoes at five o’clock. Which means the pressure cooker will be reaching its vapor screaming sound at 5:15PM. That’s when you come in through the back door.” She instructs her lover.


“How much time will we have?” asks her lover.


“Until 5:25.” She says.


“I’m ready.” Says her lover.


Example: The Carnival


The carnival is in town. She thinks, “A slice of pizza with minimal amounts of oregano and cheese,  a large sweaty Coke cup. Maybe I’ll get the tri-colored Cotton Candy Monster Bag, or maybe, just maybe, I’ll go for the Candy Apple instead.”


“Sure, I’m excited about the Bumper Cars, “ she says to her lover,  “but I’m more excited about the Ferris Wheel.”


This is why girls wear skirts to the carnival.


Example: Death & The Funeral Home:


Death visited her mother’s-friend’s-mother. The cold well-lighted place with the six brown and black coffins has an acetone smell. People in black and charcoal suits load on to the sofas as if they are lifesaving boats from a sinking Lusitania.


Her mother is preoccupied with grieving duties, which means:


This is a time of silence and reflection.

This is a time for mourning.

This is a time when her mother is not looking.

This is a time to call her lover to the parking lot.


“How long do you think we have before she notices you’re gone?” asks her lover.


“Twenty-minutes.” She says.


“We’ll do it in ten.” Says her lover.


The coming of age woman must have an intelligent lover.

A competitive one.

One that can keep time and improve it.

A lover with a bag of tricks.

One who wouldn’t have starved in the Great Depression.

The lover that can make a dollar out of a dime.


One who will make love five times a week for a total of three hundred minutes.