Sometimes it's hard to be a woman

On the way home last night, I tripped over the stumpish remains of a murdered plant rendered invisible by the darkness.

By that I mean nighttime darkness, the band played no part.


I had helium balloon strings twisted round my hands to stop them escaping and so I landed with an undignified whomp onto the ground, hurting most parts of me all at once and vastly overreacting.

My two sons were at my side immediately, not least to check the fate of the balloons. But then concern kicked in.

Son 1 was most interested to know the exact circumstances of the incident. His prime concern was for the extra strong mint that had been thrown from my pocket. This is, I would say, typical of my minutely elder son, being as he is, a Bloke. A Blokish Bloke.

I can conclude that he will grow to display the following behaviours as a man:

He will never see the point of communicating unless there is something specific to communicate. He won't phone for the sake of it.

He will be generous when it comes to gifts but almost entirely without imagination. Wishlists will be his salvation. Wrapping will be beyond him and where possible he will get someone else to tie his gifts up, only having to throw paper round their gift.

He will be puzzled as to why any woman would be upset at their keenness to play bedroom sports and won't understand why they don't see it as a massive compliment.

He will always have a solution. He will think anyone who tells him a problem and doesn't take his solution on board is a moron. He will figure if you don't want an answer, don't pose the problem.

Son 2 on the other hand will grow up to be the sort of man that indignantly states that all the above is sexist and that "not all men are like that". His response was to comfort me, check I was ok and to scold the offending stump. He also enquired as to my wellbeing the following day. He somehow has extraordinary levels of empathy, he is a joy to have around. Not that his brother isn't a joy, he just doesn't do touchy feely. He's a bloke (a smashing one) and he's gonna have a hairy chest.

Their (hairy chested) father, incidentally, appeared a good bit after to enquire why I was taking so long. I am Mrs Bloke and I wouldn't have it any other way. That doesn't mean I don't complain...