On the morning of her marriage, the Fisherman’s Wife had to be coaxed into yoga. No detail remained unfussed over, yet her anxiety grew. She could squeeze her bellybutton together on an average day, making it into a little mouth that sings Muppets tunes to a cheering gathering of friends. This day, though, was serious and the Fisherman’s Wife never embraces serious gracefully.

But grace, for her, can always be found in the body, and eventually she was persuaded to join a circle for stretching, finding the breath, and gossiping with her closest girls in the soft light of the ocean breezy afternoon. So I can’t say exactly how our conversation transferred from bouquets and lipstick to vibrators and dildos except to say that mimosas in the absence of breakfast or lunch tends to bring out the hunger in sweet Midwestern girls.

I am struggling to give you the details. I would love nothing more than to give voice to the tantalizing tidbits of sexual advice passed amongst the circle that day, but I can’t. I became obsessed, frozen in a frigid haze, opening my arms—yes, arms, I said—to the fearful fact that I was the most inexperienced woman in a league of connoisseurs.

I snapped out of it for a second to hear the Artist’s Wife explaining a contraption that slides over one’s legs. The Artist’s Wife being something extremely close to a baby sister to me, drifting to a world of fairies and spice and everything nice, until learning that she, too, was a sexual pro to my amateur, all natural lovemaking.

Oh, I’d dreamed. Who wouldn’t have after Sex and the City introduced the explicit pleasure that The Rabbit could bring. Charlotte stayed home with The Rabbit during the time that Mr. Levine was staying away from home most of the time, tied up in work, tied up in life away from his wife.

“But don’t your husbands …?” I tried to ask. “How do you just …?”

“They love it.” Universally agreed. It was a good thing that in Child’s Pose my jaw already rested against the floor.

“But isn’t it weird? Don’t they feel insecure compared to …?”

I guess this is where I confess to Secret Four, Revealed. I have never purchased, owned, or used a vibrator or dildo. These women, my friends, my very good friends whom I have known for yeeeears, had both. Both!

Naive. Green. Unadventurous. I guess when all a girl can think is Oh-My-Goodness-Oh-My! all of the above apply.

But for the purposes of our discussion, as your faithful reporter, in case you are curious, in case you like me need to know:

Four out of five married women prefer vibrators.

And one, apparently, thinks too often of lily white bunnies when asked about the pleasure she gets from her rabbit.