Are We Crude?

For its most amourous deciples, Sex and the City has always been a metaphorical anchor, securing a night of red wine and gossip with one's closest friends. But something is changing: Mums are entering the arena. My friend Lilly still can't get her box set back from her Mother, and during the few months I spent at home mine seemed to conveniently be around during my daily viewing slot.

Aside from forcing us to re-live those repressed childhood memories of watching sex scenes with our parents, the most dangerous part of this development is the moral judgements that Mothers inevitably bring to the table.

For example, one evening we were watching the memorable episode where Samantha finds a grey hair "down there" and subsequently voices her concern that "no one wants to fuck Grandma's pussy". This may not have been the best episode choice for viewing with elders, but it couldn't be helped. I glanced over at Mum, wondering how she would take it and was relieved when she broke into laughter. But I soon realised that the outburst was more incredulous than anything, when she coupled it with "It's so crude, isn't it?".

Is it? This was everyday conversation in my books, which threw up an interesting question. While trying not to sound too much like Miss Bradshaw herself, I wondered: Are we crude? I had always thought that talking frankly and openly about sex was considered mature and healthy. But has our generation gone too far? Are some things really better left unsaid?

Of course, a lot of things we share with our friends would never be said in the company of parents. For example, during our monotonous dissertation sessions at Uni, it wouldn't be uncommon for someone to snap their laptop shut and announce "I'm bored. I'm going to vibrate." However, this kind of proclaimation might not be quite as well-recieved during a Fawlty Towers marathon after Christmas lunch.

Of course, it's one thing talking about sex with Mother, but seeing solid, undisputed evidence is quite another - as my friend Betty discovered after making the mistake of inviting her Mum to help her move out of our flat. After an hour or so of packing, Betty was holding a mouldy, orange sphere at arms length and vowing never to keep clementines in her room again, when her Mum asked: "what's this?". She dropped the year old clementine into a black sack, suppressed the urge to vomit, and turned to see her mother staring intently at a small, white pot, clearly labelled 'Pussy Rub'. Horror-stricken, Betty snatched the tub from her Mother's confused clutches, pirouetted 180 degrees and launched the offending pussy rub out of the window. I don't know how the conversation continued after the incident, because that's as far as she got in re-telling it before we broke into hysterics. But I digress.

My question is: while Mums might not discuss virators and lubricant with their offspring, surely they talked about them with their friends? Apparently not. Only since the exposure of society to more open conversations like those in SATC, the somewhat tamer Loose Women, and of course the internet, has women's sexual liberation really gathered steam. But is this a good thing? Or are we slowly eroding the last remaining ounces of tradition and romance that we have left?