Round Two. Fight!




After declaring it officially 1-0 to us ladies in my last blog I was forced to consider one or two small incidents that might just sway my 'Men V's Women' argument a little.




I hate admitting I'm wrong, (it's very rare, because I'm normally always right of course,) so I'm not wrong, but just this once, just on this occasion, I am going to sort of, half admit that I might have been a little . . . unfair.




Not many men read my blog, maybe just 2% of all readers are male, (my Daddy and my Husband make up this entire percentage i reckon.) And whilst I do not like to be wrong, or lose at things or admit defeat in a battle such as this, I do believe in justice and have kinda concluded that this fight probably isn't all that fair with only one party present. Thus I have decided to review the matter accordingly . . .




When Jay read my last blog he laughed a little, rolled his eyes to heaven and then said, 'God you are such a suffragette.' - and then had to explain to me exactly what a suffragette was because I'm ashamed to say I didn't know, and he then proceeded to gently remind me of the events of that day for the both of us.




So firstly let me take you on a little journey through my life on the day that I wrote the last blog.




I awoke. Did very little. Pottered about a bit. Looked at the washing. Decided to do it later. Half-heartedly wiped the kitchen sides down in a bid to clean up and then answered the door to the ASDA delivery boy. Mum had very kindly offered to order us 'a few bits,' (because I'd accidentally spent most of our money by persuading a very tipsy and therefore vulnerable Jay to buys lots of drinks in London on Tuesday night, and then persuaded a very hungover and therefore vulnerable Jay to buy us a huge Maccy D's the day after. And the two of us kinda prioritised booze and junk food over shopping. Whoops. Told you I was crap with money.)




As I began to unpack my goodies I noticed something rather peculiar. The shopping, much like Noah's animals, was coming in two-by-two. Hurrah! Baffled and strangely excited by the wonders of such a cock-up I continued to unpack. 2 sacks of potatoes. 4 packets of nappies. 2 enormous bags of dog biscuits. 12 pints of milk. 4 loaves of bread. 96 Weetabix. 'Why on earth would Mum buy us 96 bloody Weetabix?' I thought, 'What does she think I am?! Some kind of wheat junkie?!'




I scrambled about for the receipt to ensure the cock-up had been the fault of Mr. ASDA and not my Mumma's and sure enough the extra items had not been charged for. (So I ought to take this opportunity to thank both my Mum and Mr. ASDA for my now being the in possession of 48 loo rolls, amongst other things. Thank you kindly, I shall recreate the feeding of the five thousand at my gaff pronto!)




Now the trouble with us women is that we can become irrational about the strangest of things and my mammoth grocery supply was enough to leave me irrationally thrilled to bits. And so thrilled was I that I forgot to shut my top kitchen cupboards and i enthusiastically leapt around the kitchen finding new homes for all my stuff when I accidentally ran straight into the corner of one of the cupboards and smacked my head with such almighty force that I fell backwards and landed in a dazed and confused heap on the kitchen floor next to the bin.




My god did it hurt. If I'd been animated little birds and stars and stuff would have been circling my head and a bump the size of a banana would have formed. Instead I was sick on my trousers and my head was bleeding a little :-( It hurt too much to cry, or swear. Instead I settled for staying put and reaching for the phone to call my man. (That's the other thing about us girlies. It doesn't matter how tough we are, when we're hurt or when we're really sad there's nothing quite as soothing as a nice masculine shoulder to cry on.)




In contrast, please allow me to take you on the journey that my husband had had that very same day.




Jay had been on his way to work that morning, (probably singing along to West Life songs I imagine, such is his peculiar taste in music,) when he noticed a nasty accident up ahead. A car lay almost upside down in a ditch at the side of the road, the engine hissing furiously. Lot's of people we're nearby. Some redirecting the traffic, others gawping in horror, some just lapping up the drama of the scenario, but nobody had checked on the passengers inside the upside-down car, until Captain Jay arrived in his cape. (Just to clarify, he wasn't really wearing a cape, he may listen to West Life but he's not completely camp!) Jay pulled up and ran to the car where he prised the door open and managed to single-handedly rescue a terrified woman and her shaking baby from the vehicle.




In my head he emerged through a cloud of smoke, his shirt torn, his muscles bulging, cradling the angelic baby in his arms. The crowds erupts into grateful and amazed applause and cheers before the car explodes into a giant ball of flames.




Alas since this is Britain, (and we're all so reserved,) and cars don't really explode the way they do in the movies, I don't think it happened quite like that. And being the modern-day hero he is Jay simply put his cape in the boot and continued his journey to work.




Later that afternoon he received a telephone call from another damsel in distress. Only this muppet was less Hollywood starlet, more Womble laying in a heap on the kitchen floor. Still Captain Jay returned from his heroics, rescued said Womble, cooked a scrummy tea of sausages, mash and peas and nursed the womble and her sore head with lots of love, kisses and chocolate.




Whoever it is sitting up there in the rulers chair, (most probably male) must have read my blog and decided to teach me a lesson, and so though it pains me to say it, i think the score is probably by now pretty much even.