As a man I can say with the utmost of honesty that I do like women. I have daughters, admittedly scary ones, I have a mother, also scary and there are many of them that I work with. I mean that I work with women, not daughters and mothers, well they are but they're not my ones.
But over the years in which I've observed the fairer sex and studied their behaviour there are a few things I've noticed that women can't do. Rules of nature so to speak, things that are laws and always happen, except when they don't happen of course.
The first one is about throwing. Women can't throw. You know the way a fielder can pick up a ball and casually throw it overarm towards the wicket. Well that's just something that's in our blood as boys isn't it? We can do it with ease and applomb, even chaps like me for whom cricket is frankly a bit of a mystery. We manage to throw a ball, a coaster or whatever our weapon of choice, with a natural sense of comfort. It's all in the act of releasing the missile, it has to be done with a "snap" in the wrist as you let go. Easy for us, hard for them.
The other thing I've noticed is a rule that I've yet to see broken and it's about Ansafones, voicemail or whichever terminology you choose.
It's this; men (that's us) will ring up a friend and get their voicemail. Sometimes we leave a message, it will be like this:
"Hello Steve it's Rhythmic. Give me a call when you get a chance, bye".
That's all we need to do. We're functional about these things. Now you girls are a different breed, almost like an entirely different sex. Your message will sound something like this:
"Hello Sarah it's me, Susan. Give me a call when you get a chance, I was just calling to tell you that I bumped into Kate the other day and she told me that we're all going out next Thursday. You'll never guess what happened though. Apparently she was talking to Jack and mentioned that there was a possibility of getting a new........"
I think you've got the drift. Susan will have the whole conversation, at least her side of it, with the voicemail thing. Exactly thirty six minutes later Sarah will return to her pad, retrieve her messages and call Susan back. Susan will then have the conversation again, only this time it will be two sided, like a triangle with one side missing. My research and observation strongly suggest that this scenario also applies to women who have names other than Susan or Sarah.
And, while I'm on a roll, one more thing. Women just don't understand exactly what it's like to have balls and stuff. We have to adjust them, we have to scratch them and we have to admire them now and again.
Because we can.
“Lest We Forget”:The Ethnic Violence of July 1983
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