‘The Elevator Axiom is directly related to the Theory of Proximity, yes,’ Mary Kate acknowledged. ‘But this is bigger than that. I need to be everywhere. I need to be out and about. I’m gonna see and be seen, baby! Ooh …’ She lowered her sunglasses. ‘Look, those guys are out playing badminton again. Maybe on our way back we should join in and actually learn to play instead of admiring their butts as usual.’

‘Mary Kate, FOCUS!’ I said. ‘The man butts of St Mary’s will have to wait. Our first stop is Mendoza, which is the fanciest venue on campus. So we need to walk in there like we own the damn place.’

The Mendoza Banquet Hall is evil Spanish-Inquisition-glamour at its finest: stained-glass windows, long mahogany banquet tables, silver candlesticks Jean Valjean would kill to get his grubby little hands on. It’s so fancy that we peasants whose parents pay a mere $50,000 a year for us to attend this school are rarely allowed inside. It’s mostly reserved for visiting Republican senators who vote against birth control.

Mary Kate was in awe as she tiptoed along, trying not to scuff the shiny mahogany floors with her penny loafers.

‘Wow,’ she breathed in wonder, looking up at the vaulted ceiling. ‘It’s like Hogwarts in here.’

‘Yeah, meanwhile, they keep our dorm at just above freezing in the winter and charge us a dollar per tampon in the arts building bathroom. But we can’t think about that right now.’ I tried to smooth my shirt, which had more wrinkles than a Shar-Pei’s ass. ‘Remember, we own the place!’

Unfortunately, we did not own the place. We did not even manage the place. The woman who did sat in the back office, wearing a long black habit and silver crucifix, and writing with a shiny silver pen.

‘Alex!’ hissed Mary Kate, stopping suddenly as we approached the office and grabbing my arm. ‘She’s a nun!’

‘Very good, Mary Kate,’ I said. ‘What clued you in – the I’m Married to Jesus bumper sticker across her forehead?’

‘No, I mean, she’s a nun. You can’t say the … the V-word … to a nun!’

‘I already said vagina in front of Sister Georgina! You were there!’

‘Sister Georgina is deaf – this one could hear you!’

‘She HAS a vagina!’ I said. ‘You’ve got a vagina, I’ve got a vagina, and guess what that nun has under her habit? Well, probably some really ugly but comfortable granny panties, but also a vagina! So I’m not gonna walk around pretending we’re all Barbie plastic below the waist.’

And, with that, I strode into the fancy office and declared proudly: ‘I would like to book the Mendoza Banquet Hall for a performance of The Vagina Monologues by the St Mary’s Feminist Club.’