Worse, catching sight of myself in the mirror, I noted that my labia had swollen. No wonder it hurt to walk. Honestly, it looked as though someone had taken to my nether regions with a bicycle pump. No, that didn’t quite explain it. It looked as though pirates had moored a rubber dinghy between my thighs. At least if there’s an accident at sea, I can ride my own inflated labia to shore, I thought, amazed. I also had a sheet burn on my nose – not the best look on a middle-aged mum of two.

Eventually, with minty breath and hair turbaned in a towel, I limped like a saddle-sore gunslinger into the living room I shared with my sisters. Emerald had one foot up on the coffee table and was uncharacteristically painting her toenails a blood-red shade, while Amber was curled up on the other end of the couch in her cupcake-patterned Peter Alexander PJs, peering at the computer open on her lap, no doubt emailing instructions to her over-protected progeny about what to do in case of a cyclone, tsunami, bushfire, flood, nuclear attack or Martian invasion.

‘Well, well, well, here’s a cowgirl who’s been ridin’ the risqué range!’ Emerald greeted me, approvingly.

‘So, what was such a catastrophe, and why are you hobbling?’ Amber asked, glancing up from her screen and blowing on the halo of froth atop a cappuccino.

‘Actually, I think it’s a case of ARDI.’

‘Oh, god, what’s that? Not some hideous genital disease, is it?’ Amber recoiled. ‘There’s a weapons-grade gonorrhoea during the rounds of the Pacific, apparently.’

‘A-R-D-I – ABBA-related dance injury,’ I explained. ‘My over-exuberant Mum manoeuvres, circa 1982, have left me in need of a Zimmer frame.’ I winced as I shuffled towards the armchair facing them. ‘Christ, it hurts to bend my legs. I’ll only be able to go up the stairs backwards, on my bum.’

‘Well, you were burning up the dance floor like one of the Spice Girls.’

‘Yes – Old Spice,’ Amber said, ‘judging by the ensuing chiropractor bills.’

‘Ignore her. She’s just jealous. Women have been treated like second-class citizens for centuries. Now it’s our turn to have some fun. Just look at it as reverse sexism. So, I will take that second helping of beefcake, thank you very much. Toy boys are more effective than a Kegel8 miracle machine. My fanny muscles are now so strong I could suction my way up a wall, like a vaginal Spider-Woman.’

Amber and I took a moment to process this image. As we stared agog at our older sister, she changed the subject. ‘So, tell us, how was the rest of your night?’ Emerald probed, pruriently. She radiated excitement like a heater. I could have roasted chestnuts on her.