The great scientist Stephen Hawking, author of A Brief History of Time, doesn’t understand women.
Well that’s a relief. I was worried that his seismic career might end with a whimper with some curious titles like A Brief History of Women in Stockings or The Universe is a Women’s Mind or possibly even Black Underwear and Baby Slings and Other Essays.
But fortunately, Mr Hawking hasn’t got to grips with women yet so we won’t be subjected to any such titles which is a huge relief. I would have felt compelled to purchase them just to see if his theories were right. However, it turns out Mr Hawking is the same as any other man – he doesn’t have a inkling about women. Praise the Lord. I wouldn’t want my female cunning to be exposed.
Yep, I’ve been married for over 20 years and Mr T still hasn’t got a clue what’s going on in my head. This means that, as yet, Mr T isn’t bored with me and hasn’t ditched me for a younger model. Now I’m convinced this is because he doesn’t know from day to day which of my personalities he’s going to see. This is like having 6 or 7 wives (a man’s idea of heaven) with the only thing they/me have in common (apart from being well hot obviously) is their/my generosity in allowing him to have control of the TV remote. So there you have it; the secret of a good marriage is, in effect, not to be boring. Now some women attempt to be exciting in other ways. For example – by cooking exotic dinners every night. But I say – why not go all the way and just have a load of different personalities? Beats studying recipe books in my opinion.
You know, generally speaking, I think I understand most men and women. (I’m excluding Christian Scientists.) Not wanting to offend my lovely male readers and I certainly don’t want to oversimplify things too much but if I said a man’s world was ruled by a) his pants b) his pints and c) his remote control – I wouldn’t be far off would I? I could add in that peculiar fascination with balls which I talked about here but, as I say, best to keep things simple so there’s a better chance my male Readers understand what I’m going on about.
Ho hum. I’m just teasing of course. I love men!
Anyway, I admit that sometimes even I, The Housewife Extraordinaire, don’t understand women. Like this particular lady who takes her collection of dolls, known as Reborn Dolls rather too seriously. These imitation babies are supposed to be very realistic – although in some of the pictures I’ve seen they look like hideous creatures from outer space. In fact, I look forward to seeing them on a future episode of Dr Who.
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| This one doesn’t look too bad. Although with those bags under the eyes I think Mum should avoid taking her baby out for a night on the town. Maybe she should take a trip down the clinic instead. Preferably the “clinic” where the exits are locked. |
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| Hmm- I’d prefer this one in a romper suit. Still, there’s no accounting for taste. |
Now I want to be balanced and fair (I can be you know) so I’m going to say there’s no shame, no shame at all, in collecting stuff. Think of all things commonly collected: stamps, antiques, teapots, shoes, butterflies, books, train registration numbers. We don’t think anything’s strange about collecting such items…well maybe the train spotters are a bit peculiar. As it happens, one of my brothers was a train spotter when he was a teenager but I think it was actually an excuse to talk about a) his pants b) pints c) my father’s ownership of the TV remote and d) balls. Anyway, he grew up to relatively normal and as far as I’m aware he doesn’t own a raincoat or a Network Rail Card.
Furthermore, I admit I also collect things. Yes, I do.
Principally, this is jewellery.
Initially, I had aspired to collect gold bullion but life doesn’t always work out as planned does it?
Anyway, the woman featured in the article takes her Reborn Dolls so seriously that she buys them expensive designer clothes and has a nursery for them. (Chokes back vomit.) She even has one that looks 6 weeks premature which she keeps in her bedroom in a crib. Now I had two children born 5 weeks premature and I can tell you I would not want to be reminded of that in a million years. Just the smell of a small baby and I could win any 100 metre sprint. Hmm… I bet that lady’s husband prays to God every night that Stephen Hawking works out women because you can bet your life he hasn’t clue what’s going on.
So to sum up my balanced and fair article the words completely and nuts come to mind.
Ahhhhh…it feels good to be sane. It’s not often I can say that. But today I feel good, good, good. In fact, I’m going to write to Stephen Hawking – maybe we could collaborate on a book.
