So, last night I glanced through the book ‘Why men don’t listen and women can’t read maps.’ I was mostly reading it to stop myself checking my book sales every two seconds. This is the problem when a new book comes out. I become desperate. Neurotic almost, in fact you could say demented. Such is my fear of failure. But enough of my psychosis. Reading ‘Why men don’t listen and women can’t read maps’ made me realise how different men and women are. Not that I needed the book to tell me that. I quickly threw that in the bin. I hate self-help books don’t you? Let’s be honest if you haven’t helped yourself by the time you buy a book you’re never going to are you? No, it’s therapy you need, trust me. A book is never going to do it. But I did think about what a charmed life men have *prepares herself for man onslaught*
Maybe Dustin Hoffman will side with me…
I don’t know about you other women but I would love to be a man for a day. I really can’t see what issues they have. Do they have breast screening, oh no. Do they have to worry about lumps, oh no.
There you are with your tit being squashed between two plates and having it look a little like a pizza while the lady doing the squashing asks.
‘Have a nice holiday this year?’
Of course you try to make polite conversation don’t you? Neither of you wants to acknowledge what is actually going on. You both act like it is the most normal thing in the world to have your tits on show and that she is in fact becoming more intimate with your breasts than your husband. The thing that really gets me is when they tell you it is just a little uncomfortable. What the hell does that mean? A bit uncomfortable to me is when I can’t get settled on the couch or the label in my top is irritating me. You get my drift don’t you? Then of course there is the dreaded pap smear. Where you open your legs all in the name of prevention. This time you have your, you know what, on show for all to see. And as she sticks that cold speculum up you and you clench every muscle possible she says ‘Just a little discomfort.’ and you’re just praying that the fart you’re desperately holding in won’t escape. I’m right aren’t I?
Then she tells you that you might feel a little scrape as she removes half of your cervix. Of course we kindly thank her for the indignity before leaving.
Men don’t have to put up with that. I don’t think they have their private parts yanked around that much or do they? I’m sure there will be one man to put me right.
Of course there is the other business. You know what I’m talking about. That awful moment when you need the loo and it seems a hike away, or you find yourself in a supermarket that doesn’t have one. One reason not to shop at Lidl I find. I don’t know about you but I have often cross legged my way to a loo looking like I’m auditioning for River Dance.
‘If you are standing, cross your legs and keep your feet together. If you are sitting, press your legs down and keep your pubic area up.’
More often than not, you don’t make it right? And then there is another disaster to deal with. What do men do? They find the nearest tree. No, sorry that is dogs isn’t it? The nearest field, or the nearest bush and drop their trousers. I know we could do it too. Ever tried it? Yes, you sit there praying it will come while every muscle in your bladder screams no I will not allow it. Nothing worse is there?
We slap all these creams and lotions on often to be told by the other half,
‘Why do you bother?’
To look young for you of course, but they don’t appreciate it do they?
Then there is the whole weight issue. Oh God, don’t go there. While the men stuff their faces full of chips and chicken we’re chomping away on lettuce and radishes. Not happily in my case I must admit. I mean, we don’t want cellulite and all that stuff do we? Why don’t magazines make a big thing of men and their weight, or their looks, or their wrinkles? They don’t suffer with Bartholin cysts do they? Headaches, oh no. Vaginal dryness? No, it’s all us.
Okay they have the impotence thing but apart from that their little private parts do okay don’t they?
Men don’t have periods. They don’t have a clue. My husband went shopping for sanitary towels once and came home totally confused after being asked ‘With or without wings, regular or super. Or was it tampons you needed?’
‘How do I know the difference? God forbid I got wings and you wear without wings,’ he’d moaned.
I can see it can drive him to suicide.
They don’t feel like the wicked witch of East for two weeks of a month do they? Get a tampon stuck, oh yes, I’ve done that. You can read that post here. Or have to face that dreaded menopause. No, let’s not go there yet.
So my question is this. If we suffer all this, can they not suffer two hours a week of shopping? That’s all I ask of my other half. Ten minutes into the shopping trip he is yawning and asking how many more shops are we going into. If I go near a clothes shop he has a panic attack. I have many times asked him to wait outside a fitting room so I can show him a new outfit only to tra la in front of a total stranger as my man has gone.
‘Looks lovely,’ said the stranger. Except I wasn’t attending a wedding with him was I?
I have been known to wander around a store in one of their dresses looking for husband. I even set off the alarms after spotting him outside.
‘Do you like this one?’ I’d shouted to have sirens and bells going off everywhere as I got too close to the entrance.
I’m always phoning him in supermarkets because he wanders off when I look at beauty products.
I wonder what it would be like to be a man. Maybe I wouldn’t like that expectation that I can take care of everyone. That everything is down to me. Perhaps it isn’t easy to seem strong all the time. I like to cry easily plus don’t I get to live longer supposedly? I need to weigh all this up.
The new book by the way is ‘The Valentine Present and Other Diabolical Liberties’ available from Amazon and all good bookshop. £1.95 kindle and £5. 95 Paperback.
Shameless plug over.