I DON’T THINK I’ve ever been more excited than the morning Mrs Smith, the head of science at my comprehensive school, pulled down the blackboard and wrote: “Naughty bits” in big letters. This was it. Finally. The hilarious, awkward, fascinating moment we’d been waiting for: sex ed.
Sadly, as titillating as the diagrams of ovaries and sperm were, it did next to nothing to prepare me for life as a sexual being.
In junior school, we’d watched a cartoon telling us that when we were older we’d need to wash our feet and armpits because they’d get smelly — not to mention our genitals, which, by the way, might feel nice to touch one day. All of which I’d worked out for myself by the time I was 14, thank you.