By HELEN RAZER
It’s been a while since we’ve spoken. Come to that, it’s been a while since your trowel last tilled my lady-garden. But, discussion of my area, or “Ground Zero” as it is known to my therapist, is for another, more private time. For the moment, we’re going to talk about you.
More honestly, we’re going to talk about me; or, we’re going to talk about my gender as it relates to yours. No. Don’t worry. There will be no whiny “You Go Girl” drivel about A Woman’s Right to Shoes. I hate that shit.
In fact, there’s a lot of stuff about perky women that makes me long to grow a penis. I don’t like their fascination with handbags and cupcakes. I don’t like the way they keep scrapbooks. I don’t like it when they say “women are really good at multitasking” and demonstrate this through buying kitten-heels, scrapbooking and ramming cupcakes in their pie-holes all at once.
I mean, if you’re so good at multitasking, stop buying things, shut the hell up and become an urban planner. Don’t waste your neurological gifts whining “blah blah blah women are so much smarter than men” but doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to bear this out in civic life.
Our foremothers did not throw themselves in front of horses so you could buy the Gossip Girl boxed-set, you self-centred, over-spending bint. Shut up and measure housing density and re-route the traffic; I’ve had it with your moaning.
But, we’re getting ahead of ourselves.