He Said She Said - The Basement

 

"What the hell are we going to do with all your books when they arrive from the UK?" she said.

"I've got it all planned out," he said.  "We're going to redo the basement."

"Really?" she said.

"Yes.  Come with me," he said, leading her down the steps into the murky depths, "I'll show you."

He spread his arms, gesturing in the open area.

"There will be three spaces," he said.  "The bookshelves will go along these two walls, with the TV, games and sofa here to complete the Man Cave.  Then this area will be walled off and be the laundry room.  Then under the stairs will be a storage closet."

"Hang on a minute!" she said.  "You have an office upstairs and now you get a Man Cave down here?  Whenever I have admin stuff to do, I have to use the dining room table!  Where's my space?"

"I've already explained that," he sighed, pointing.  "You have the laundry room."

Violence ensued.

Memory Lane - Cancer don' come wid no GPS, Baby

 

My mother died of breast cancer after living with it for seven years.

I remember distinctly the day my parents called me to tell me the news.  I was renting a room in a house in London, living by myself for the first time, and trying to navigate a new country, a new job, finding new friends.  They told me my mother had found a lump under her arm and received that oh-so-feared diagnosis.

When I hung up the phone, I felt completely confused, shocked and very, very alone.

But never mind all that.

The story of my mother's disease isn't about me.

It's about my mother, the star of the tale, who kept living her life as best she could, made brave decisions about what treatment she would tolerate, and integrated alternative therapies where she could, like massage with Arnica oil to help with the pain.

When Cortisone injections numbed her left arm, she drove one handed (she had no choice - there was no public transport where she lived) and still got out to the charity meetings that were a big part of her life.

She helped me with my wedding, arranging for her friends to bring flowers for my bouquet, cutting single hydrangeas from her garden for my bridesmaids, and arranging for us to get our hair done.   At the reception she sat, unable to dance, smiling and talking to friends and family, cradling her left arm with her right.

My family - key co-stars - gathered around her, cooking meals to bring to the house, driving her around once she could not longer do it herself, massaging her arm when she ached.

My sister went to my parent's house every day, checking in on them and, throughout all the years of the disease, taking on more and more tasks to help.  My brother drove up to help too, keeping everyone's spirits up and emailing me regularly to keep me up to date.  My cousin, a nurse, helped in all sorts of ways, bringing her expertise and constantly showing how big-hearted she is.  My father stood by my mother's side, this woman he had shared over 50 years of marriage with, keeping things going in as normal a way as he could.

Cancer is a strange disease, different to the other common illnesses that involve a slow decline.

Unlike Alzheimer's, the Cancer patient doesn't forget who you are or become difficult to manage - they are just sick.

Unlike AIDS, there is no stigma attached, no sense of shame or guilt that you brought this on yourself (a fallacy but, nevertheless, people do feel that) or that there is someone else in your life who is to blame for giving it to you.

But Cancer does have two things in common with the two diseases mentioned above - there are all sorts of side effects that come with treatment, and it is difficult to manage all the various doctors, options and medications out there.

So I was so pleased to learn about a new site for people on the Cancer journey.  

It's called Navigating Cancer and you can find it at www.navigatingcancer.com.  

As the site says, Cancer is a journey, and, I would add, it don't come with no GPS.

So, if you know someone who is fighting Cancer, or supporting another person who is, tell them about this site.

Because everyone touched by this illness can use a little help.

Memory Lane - Varsity Engineers

 

Ah, Varsity Engineers...

We're catching up on Greek, and a dorky Engineering student opens the door of Spitter's apartment to find Casey there.  Like Raj on on Big Bang Theory, he freezes at the sight of a pretty woman unable to speak.

This took me back to the Engineers at my University, back in South Africa.

I don't remember them being as dorky.  A lot of them had come through the Civil War in Rhodesia's conversion to Zimbabwe, had suffered the stress of a strange war, and were very, very into partying.  They were in a different country, literally footloose and fancy free.

And - boy! - could they drink.

The only thing they did better than drink was be pigs.

Disgusting, revolting pigs.

You could always spot an Engineering student - the bloodshot eyes, the stale hangover-breath, and the smelly clothes - courtesy of the same shorts, shoes and slops (thongs/flip flops) for at least a week.

The Engineers brought out a cheap-ass publication (photocopied at the Library and stapled together) every year full of dirty, sexist jokes.  Yes, it was funny, but it was also vile.

There was a woman Engineer in our res (dorm/residence) who took shit every single day of lectures.  

But there's always another side to the story.

Many of the Engineers were hot.   And their devil-may-care attitude was seductive.  

If you could find one on the day of the week that he'd actually showered, you were in for a good night of - as the slang was that year - "Shaping" with him.

So, yes, I schtuped an Engineer.

And, a few years later, I married one.  Except this one bathes.

Thank God.

Quote Unquote - Cadbury vs. Hersheys

 

"As you may have noticed, the above suggestions work on the assumption that everything tastes nice when it's swaddled in Dairy Milk chocolate. Which it does. A bloated, over-ripe corpse dredged from a polluted canal would taste nice if it was ­encased in a Dairy Milk shell. If it was coated in Hershey's, you'd find yourself glumly picking the chocolate off to get at the sludgey grey flesh ­beneath. And that's a FACT."

Charlie Brooker, the Guardian Newspaper, UK

Being a Doggy Mama - Mornings with Puppy Girl

 

First thing in the morning, Puppy Girl is ON.  

She is rested, energized and ready to take on the Duracell Bunny and WIN.  Scratch that - ready to rip the Duracell bunny to furry shreds, exposing it's soft stuffing and hard battery case, and WIN!

First thing in the morning I am OFF.

I am groggy, grumpy and physically fighting the urge to go back to bed.  

And so we have a routine now.

I get up, I let the dogs outside, I feed them, I let them outside again.  I let Puppy Dog back into the bedroom so that he can go back to bed and surface at a much later hour - more suited to the teenage boy that he is.

Then I brush my teeth.

And that's when the game starts.

Puppy Girl brings me her morning retriever game ball.

It's a big hollow rubber thing.

I don't know who invented or designed this ball, but they are a GENIUS.  It's soft it doesn't hurt the furniture, it bounces a bit, so the dogs can chase it in different directions, it's light, so it's easy to kick and throw, and the holes mean the dogs can (a) wrap their teeth around it and play tug and (b) get it stuck in their mouths when they want to drop it, which can be highly amusing.

So I brush my teeth in the doorway of the kitchen and dining room, gunk in my eyes, electric toothbrush in my mouth, hair a la Medusa, bending it like Beckham at 6:15 in the morning.

We've had a few fun moments with this game.

There was the time I got more air in the kick than expected and the ball ended up on top of the bookshelves.

There was the time Puppy Girl got too into it, stood to close to me and the follow on curve of my kick ended with my foot in her open mouth.

And then there was the time the ball ricocheted off her crate and, trying to stop, she planted her feet and slid about three feet across the wooden floor, crumpling into the side of the couch and I guffawed, only to choke on the electric toothbrush.  Trust me, you don't want toothpaste triggering your gag reflex.  Once it get's past your mouth, that shit is STRONG.

And so, by 7am, I've managed to have something to eat, tidy the kitchen a little bit and take my vitamins.  All interspersed by kicking, kicking, kicking the ball.  Puppy Girl is then read to crash on the bed with her daddy, while I go and shower in peace.

It's our little routine, and we like it.

He Said She Said - Dinner Party Prep

 

They were parking the car in front of the house.

"So," he said.  "We've done the grocery shopping, we've planned the menu.  It's 2pm.  We still have to clean the house, I have to start the cooking and we have to walk the dogs so they'll be tired enough tonight to not drive our guests insane."

"Agreed," she said.

"Right," he said.  "You walk the dogs and I'll clean the house and start the cooking."

"Deal!" she said.

They went in, unpacked the groceries and had a sandwich for lunch.

"OK," she said, "I'm walking the dogs."

"Both of them?"

"Sure."

"You're a braver man then me," he said.

"I'm not a man, but I won't dispute the rest of that," she said.

 Ten minutes later, she was back.

"This isn't working," she said, sending one of the dogs into the house.

Forty minutes later, she returned and swapped the dogs over.  The vacuum cleaner was out, and the beef was roasting in the oven.

"Next!" she said, disappearing out the door with dog number 2.

Another half hour later, she got home, sighing with exhaustion.  The puppy still wasn't controllable on a leash.

"You won't fucking believe this," she said.  "I threw a stick for her in the park and - what are the odds? - the stick fell vertically into the mud and stuck up like a spike, and she went for it and it scraped the back of her throat.  She vomited.  We have to check that she's OK."

They spent the next ten minutes wrestling with the puppy, trying to see the back of her throat.  There was a dark pink scrape, but it didn't seem to be bleeding.

Crisis over, she started to lay the table, finding a tablecloth and opening the new pack of linen napkins.

"Uh, Honey?" she called.

"What?" he said, walking into the dining room.

"Don't you think that we should take these clothes drying on the radiator away?"

"Oh, yeah," he said.  "Our guests probably don't want to see our laundry, even if it is clean."

He took the clothes away.

They kept preparing in silence, until...

"Uh, Honey?" she called.

"What?" he said walking into the lounge.

"I've moved the armchair because there are going to be six people, and the floor behind it is hairball central."

"But I swiffer dusted there!" he said.

He stomped off to get the handheld vacuum, and sucked up enough hair to make a new puppy ear.

More preparations, clanging in the kitchen, wine glasses laid out on the table.

He walked to the bathroom to take a leak, only to find her frantically scrubbing the basin.

"I need to pee," he said.

"Too bad," she snapped, turning the tap on to wash the cleaning fluid away.

"I just hadn't got to the bathroom yet," he said, sighing.

"Honey," she snapped, "the bathroom is VITAL to clean when you have people over.  It's the only time during the evening that they are alone and can actually look at your house.  It's like seeing the bathroom in a restaurant.  If you see a speck of dirt you start to wonder how clean the kitchen is and get nervous about eating your food."

"I never think that," he said.

"Well I DO!" she yelled.  "And I'm the one who gets judged when our guests see dog hairs and dirt in that little space behind the toilet seat!"

"I cooked AND cleaned!" he yelled back.

And so it began.

A game that started years ago in the marriage.

The "How many things did you do vs. how many things I did" game.

It went on for about five minutes.

They were saved by the bell - a reminder peep from the oven, calling him in to check the beef.

She finished cleaning, watched her hands, and walked into the kitchen.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"What?" he said, leaning closer, craning his left ear towards her mouth.

"I said I was blefigilmil," she said.

"Well I'm blefigilmil too," he smiled.

"Would you like a glass of wine while you finish cooking?" she asked.  It was a peace offering.

They hugged, they sipped some wine, and everything was OK again.

If you liked this post, see more He Said She Said stuff here.

Note to Self - On Spoling the Doggies

 

Note to self:

Spoiling the dogs by giving them scraps of roast beef from the table during your dinner party is amusing when you're drunk.  

And letting them lick the plates before putting them in the dishwasher saves you from having to rinse them and stick icky stuff down the garbage disposal.  

I get it.

But then there's the next day.

And the farts.

The silent-but-violent, far-reaching, lingering, stomach-churning farts.

Farts that leave sulphur on the palate with a chewy, meaty texture.  There's a bitter finish and back notes of laundry left in the washing machine for too long without being dried.  The bouquet assaults the nostrils with an aroma of pate, damp raincoats, rotting flesh and fresh feces.  

And they just don't stop.

They.

Just.

Don't.

Stop.

If you liked this post, see the other Note to Self posts here.

Dear Diary - Body Betrayal

Dear Diary

 

Sometimes I feel like my body is betraying me.

 

I went to a networking thingy tonight.  

 

It was interesting to be one of the few people there with a full time job, but that's a different story.

 

What happened is this...

 

We took a break after dinner and before the speech, and I headed off to the restroom.  A very interesting woman I have met before walked with me, and we were yacking, as you tend to do at these things.

 

She seemed to be one of those people who is happy to continue a conversation between restroom stalls, so we kept talking as we both put buttcheeks to porcelain.

 

And then my body decides it's time to take a massive, smelly dump.

 

So there I am, trying to sound cheerful and chatting away, trying to cover the whole bowl of the toilet with my ample bum and thighs so no smell gets out, and trying desperately to finish pooping quickly so that I can bound out of the stall as if I've only had a nice little pee like everyone else.

It didn't work.

She was out of the stall, hands washed and out of the bathroom before I even got to the last wipe.

  

And she knew.

 

She knew.

 

Because at some point she just stopped talking and left the restroom, without saying anything that would close the conversation like "see you back in there" or "I'm heading back now."

 

Why, Body, why?

 

Why then?

 

You had various opportunities during the day, in total privacy, to drop a bomb on Dresden.

 

Sigh.

 

You Judas!

 

FAIL - Cellphone Provider Fail

I couldn't make this shit up.

If you have any Fails you'd like me to publish, email them to ittybittycrazy@gmail.com.

Cellphone Provider FAIL

Hello,

My name is XXXX XXXXX and I work at the [Cellphone Network Provider] and I was reviewing your account and noticed you are on the [My Former Employer's Old Company Plan] instead of the [My Former Employer's New Company Plan]. 

The feature you currently have is $XX normal price and ends up being $XX after your new XX% company discount every month. 

The plan you are on now, however, does not get all the discounts the [My Former Employer's New Company Plan] does and you end up paying more for your current plan. 

The [My Former Employer's New Company Plan] is normally $XX, but you also receive a $XX credit in addition to the new XX% off, netting the final price per month to $XX, as detailed on [Internal Company Website].

I also noticed you are on a $XX month messaging plan which includes 2500 messages.  Another part of the new discounts is a unlimited messaging plan for $XX.  This is usually a $XX feature, but with the new discounts, you will receive a $XX credit monthly, netting the price to $XX.  You pay less and get more!

If you would like me to correct this, please email me back or contact me at the number below, and I can change your data feature to the lower priced one. 

Please let me know if you have any other questions or concerns. 

Thank you for your business!

[Name] 

[Contact Details]

_________________________________

Dear [Name Withheld],

Thank you for following up on my cellphone discount plan.

1. I was let go by [My Former Employer] in the restructuring on [Date which is a VERY long time ago]
2. I now have a [different kind of cellphone]
3. my new data deal for [different kind of cellphone] is less than the [My Former Employer] data plan.

I still like [My Former Employer] and I want to be proud of the company.   

And I think the partnering with [Cellphone Network Provider] is great. 

But mistakes like this don’t help you guys in the PR department. 

I suggest partnering with [My Former Employer's] HR to get current employee data, or at least checking the internal email address (to see if they still exist) before contacting any further customers.

With kind regards,

[Me]

He Said She Said - In the car

 

They were in the car, and passed a young woman wearing a purple floral coat, black miniskirt, yellow tights with bright blue knee-high socks on top of them.

"Somewhere, deep inside her," he said, "there's a fashion statement trying to break out."

She laughed.

They kept driving.  

Traffic came to a stop on a small, suburban street.  There were men in bright orange safety vests.  

As they crept along, they saw a big truck with a hose, and men cleaning out the sewers.

"You see, kids?" he said.  "THIS is what we're talking about when we tell you to work hard in school and make good life choices."

"Damn!" she said.  "You are ON FIRE today!"

She licked her finger, touched his shoulder and said:

"TSSSST!"

Quote Unquote - Office Insults

 

"Your breasts should be on display in a Swiss miniatures museum."

Geek to a colleague in Better off Ted, a comedy on ABC

Quote Unquote - Consultants

 

I love the little nuggets of Zen from the pothead contestants. Like "I did my best. I hit really loud notes."

My Tweep, @contranym 

9 to 5 - Training lessons

 

Some nice tips from my training session today:

Feedback - I need it in such a way that: 

• I can see my options
• I can understand the cause and effect
• My dignity stays intact.

He Said She Said - Stir Fry

"Thank you for cooking, Honey," he said.

"It's OK," she said.  "You're sick."

LATER...

"Uh, Honey?" he said, from the couch.

"What?"

"You can't do the laundry at the same time as cooking," he said.

"I'm a woman," she yelped.  "We juggle!"

LATER...

"Honey?" he said.

"What?"

"This soaking the Pad Thai noodles thing isn't working.  I think we need to just boil them."

"OK, I'll do that.  Now go lie down and watch TV."

LATER...

"AARGH!" she yelled.

"What?  What?"  He ran into the kitchen.

"I spilled water from the noodles pan in the hot oil in the wok," she said.

"Don't do that, Honey," he said.

"Well I didn't do it on purpose!" she snapped.  "It was an accident!"

"OK, OK," he said, "I'm leaving the kitchen."

LATER...

"Um... Honey?" he said.

"What?"

"What sauce did you use?"

"The one you told me to.  General Tsao thingy."

"But there's a lot of liquid..."

"Well, it was burning so I added water."

He resisted saying anything about the juggling laundry thing.

Instead:

"Honey, it's a stir fry, not SOUP!"

"Oh, shut up!" she said.  "I've got it on a simmer, and the water is boiling off."

He stirred the pot.

"NO!" she yelled.  "Don't scrape the burnt bits off the bottom!  Then we'll have to eat it!"

"OK, but..."

"You see? You see?  This is why!"

"This is why what?"

"This is why YOU COOK!  Stop being sick!"

"OK, OK, I'll get out of the kitchen..."

"Yes!  Go!"

"But before I do..."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

LATER...

"Well?  What do you think?" she asked.

"It's very nice, Honey," he said.

"You better rest tomorrow," she said, "because you're cooking!"

COUCH POTATO - Jennifer's Body

 

Don't let the tacky trailers for this movie fool you... it's very good.

The acting is good.

The filming is good.

The story is excellent.

There is a subtlety to how the supernatural is handled in this movie.  The gore isn't gratuitous at all.

Watch the Extended Version.  I started watching it for the second time on the Theater Version with Fluffy Bear and had to turn it off and switch to the extended - I thought that things were being edited out that were too important.

And yes, this is a movie you can watch more than once.  I appreciated the circular nature of the story better, now recognizing all the hints, the little sub plots.

There are so many themes in this movie apart from the obvious, a major one being the nature of friendship between two teenage girls.  Diablo Cody (she also wrote Juno) really knows the teenage psyche, and the particular bond that exists between teenage girls, and how their friendship is real love, which can easily tip over in into the physical.

Speaking of which, there is one scene in this movie which any straight man will want to rewind again and again and again.  As a woman, I have to admit I enjoyed it too.

And yes, don't worry, it does deliver on the horror movie quivers... parts of it are scary.  Even Fluffy Bear jumped out of his skin once.

Diablo Cody also writes the United States of Tara (about a woman living with her own multiple personalities), so she has an understanding of the multiplicity of things, the co-existence of opposites.  This shows through in the movie.  Like when you watch Dexter, you aren't always sure that you want the villain to get taken down.  Hell, you aren't always sure the villain is even a villain.

I really enjoyed this movie.

Twice.

Rent it.

But not with anyone under 21 around.  Or your mom.  If you have them in the room, you'll have more than one uncomfortable moment.  Kick them out and enjoy the sex scenes for what they are.  Even those bits are intelligently done.

And let me know what you thought of it.

Being a Doggy Mama - Doggy Day Care

 

This week, Fluffy Bear was away on a business trip, so I had to take the pups to Doggy Day Care.

Day 1: 

We park outside Doggy Day Care and I slowly, slowly open the back of the SUV, sticking my hand in and saying "Wait.  Waaaaaait.... WAIT!"

Yeah, not so much.

Puppy Girl wriggled out of the car and jumped down, running into the road.

This is a five lane road, a major road, and it was full of morning rush hour traffic.

I have a mental picture in my mind of the moment she reached the second lane, her leash dragging behind her and my realization that she was going to die.  I heard someone scream her name, and it was me. 

A thought that Fluffy Bear is going to hate me if she dies flashed through my head.

And my next thought changed the situation.

"Don't chase her," my brain said, "take a tip from Victoria Stilwell and make her chase you."

And so I turned, ran to the door of the Doggy Day Care and, thank God, Puppy Girl followed me.

I left the SUV open, my purse in the front seat - I just didn't care - and got the two dogs inside.

It was only when I got back to the car that I started shaking, and burst into tears.

Day 2:

This time I was prepared.  I parked in parking lot on the side of Doggy Day Care, slightly away from the street.  

Why didn't I do this the first time?  Because it belongs to another business and we aren't supposed to use it.  But, I figured, fuck it.

When I opened the back of the SUV, I had chicken snacks in my hand.  I managed to keep both dogs in the car till I had their leashes.

I get dragged into Doggy Day Care - this time Puppy Girl knows where we are going and, like her older brother, she wants to get there as fast as possible.

I managed to control them relatively well, until the young lady who takes the dogs into the back came out.  Wanting to get to play with his friends NOW, Puppy Dog pulled on the leash, going around the back of the desk.  Everything was caught on the leashes, and went flying, including this poor young lady's coffee.

Two staff jumped at me, grabbed the leashes out of my hands and took the two dogs back to their different play areas (because Puppy Girl is young, she goes in with the puppies).

It was so embarrassing!

I offered to replace the coffee, but was told no, it's OK.

I left as soon as I could.

Day 3:

I managed to get the dogs in OK, but when I collected them, one of the staff decided he would make Puppy Girl sit before he handed the leash to me.  She knows how to sit - we've been to training class.  But all training goes out of the window inside the doors of Doggy Day Care.

He signaled at her, he said sit, he gently pushed her butt down.  She sat for a millisecond.  

He did it again.  She barely sat again.

And he wouldn't give up.  

On and on and on and on.

Eventually, she won.

I grabbed her leash, pulled Puppy Dog with me and we practically ran out of there.

Thank God we start our second training class this week...

Being a Doggy Mama - Puppy Casualties

Well, it had to happen sometime...

He Said She Said - Laundry

"Thank you for doing the laundry," she said.

"That's OK,"  he said.  "It needed doing."

"Yes it DID!" she said, her annoyance showing.  "You seemed to leave it till it reached critical mass."

"I did it the way a MAN would do it," he said.  "I don't like to do it all the time.  It's like a job that never ends.  I hate jobs that never end.  Like doing your expenses."

"You can think of it that way," she replied, "or you can think of it as always being complete, because you're always on top of it."

"No, no, NO!"  he said.  "Haven't you watched enough Top Gear with me to understand how men think?  If I leave the laundry, it becomes a job.  It's the engineer in me.  I can work out how many loads are needed, what order to do it in, how to divide up the clothes.  It's Just in Time laundry!"

"Just in Time?  I've haven't had the right socks all week!  My gym socks, which are too short, have been rolling down to my toes when I walk in my boots!"

"Well it was Just in Time for me..."

"Oh, Colonel Pickering!" she sighed... "Why can't a man... be more like a woman?"

PROFESSOR HARRIET HIGGINS:

Why can't a woman be more like a man?

Why can't a man, be more like a woman?

Men are so honest, so thoroughly square;

Women are loyal, always a friend 

Eternally noble, historically fair.

A shoulder to cry on, right through to the end

Who, when you win, will always give your back a pat.

Who, when you drunk-puke, we will hold your hair back

Why can't a woman be like that?

Why can't a man be more like that?

Why does every one do what the others do?

Why does every man do what his buddies do?

Can't a woman learn to use her head?

Can't a man learn to think for himself?

Why do they do everything their mothers do?

Must they copy their fathers and try to outdo?

Why don't they grow up, well, like their father instead?

Why can't they leave their ego on the shelf?

Why can't a woman take after a man?

Why can't a man take after a woman?

Men are so pleasant, so easy to please.

Women are pleasant, so eager to please.

Whenever you're with them, you're always at ease.

Whenever you're with them, they put you at ease.

Would you be slighted if I didn't speak for hours?

Would you be worried if I didn't speak for hours?

COLONEL LADY PICKERING:

Of course not!

But of course!

PROFESSOR HARRIET HIGGINS:

Would you be livid if I had a drink or two?

Would you giggle if we had a drink or two?

COLONEL LADY PICKERING:

Nonsense!

Like a baby!

PROFESSOR HARRIET HIGGINS:

Would you be wounded if I never sent you flowers?

Would you be excited if somebody sent me flowers?

COLONEL LADY PICKERING:

Never.

Always!

   

PROFESSOR HARRIET HIGGINS:

Well, why can't a woman be like you?

Well, why can't a man be like you?

One man in a million may shout a bit.

One woman in a million may nag a bit.

Now and then, there's one with slight defects.

Now and then there's one with no self respect.

One perhaps whose truthfulness you doubt a bit,

One perhaps who behaves like a slut a bit,

But by and large we are a marvelous sex!

But by and large we are the better sex!

Why can't a woman take after a man?

Why can't a man, take after a woman?

'Cause men are so friendly, good-natured and kind.

Women are sweet, good-natured and kind.

A better companion you never will find.

A better confidante you never will find.

If I were hours late for dinner would you bellow?

If we had dinner plans would you be on time?

 

COLONEL LADY PICKERING:

Of course not.

Of course!

 

PROFESSOR HARRIET HIGGINS:

If I forgot your silly birthday, would you fuss?

If my birthday came around you'd make a fuss?

 

COLONEL LADY PICKERING:

Nonsense.

I always do!

PROFESSOR HARRIET HIGGINS:

Would you complain if I took out another fellow?

Would you help me check my date's a worthy fellow?

 

COLONEL LADY PICKERING:

Never.

I always have!

PROFESSOR HARRIET HIGGINS:

Why can't a woman be like us?

Well why can't men be more like us?

Why can't a woman be more like a man?

Why can't a man be more like a woman?

Men are so decent, such regular chaps;

Women are decent, sweet smelling and clean;

Ready to help you through any mishaps;

Egging you on when it's time to be mean;

Ready to buck you up whenever you're glum.

Ready to pick you up whenever you are down.

Why can't a woman be a chum?

Why does a man have to be such a clown?

Why is thinking something women never do?

Why is cleaning something that men never do?

And why is logic never even tried?

And why is tidying up never tried?

Straightening up their hair is all they ever do.

Tinkering with things is all they ever do,

Why don't they straighten up the mess that's inside?

While making messes we just can't abide!

Why can't a woman behave like a man?

Why can't a man be more like a woman?

If I was a woman who'd been to a ball,

If I was a man and had been to a game

Been hailed as a princess by one and by all;

Drunk myself stupid - only myself to blame - 

Would I start weeping like a bathtub overflowing,

Would I grab more beer and fast food by the box full?

Or carry on as if my home were in a tree?

Or determine to watch more sport on TV?

Would I run off and never tell me where I'm going?

Or carry on as if I'm a Neanderthal?

Why can't a woman be like me?

Why can't a man be like me?

Quote Unquote - Twitter

 

Overheard at dinner:

"My grandmother thought Twitter was the plural of Twat!"