Being a woman
Being a woman sometimes isn't all it is cracked up to be. I am not denying that the feminist movement, voting and all that jazz doesn't have its benefits but sometimes I find myself knackered just trying to keep up.
Now that I can have it all I find that actually I don't want very much at all...
By not very much, I mean I would settle for a 5-bed house, ideally with pool, a nanny, a reasonably attractive young man dressed in a loin cloth who would be charged with bringing me drinks in a tall glass, a cleaner and a gardener and possibly a small fairground for the kids.
It doesn't sound like much does it?
But thanks to Betty Friedan and Germaine Greer it seems that I have to go drag my mascara scarred face out of bed in the bedroom, dress three children myself, shovel cereal down them at the rate of knots, run like a whale on legs to the station, board a train, go to work, do the boss thing, come home, play with Barbies and Batman whilst sticking pins in my eyes, make tea, clean up, wash clothes, do ironing, mow the lawn, get clean and at close to midnight finally sit down on my exhausted arse.
But then finally....
To add insult to injury...
The latest stage in the ‘women can be all things to all people' movement has caused me serious cause for claim. Now not only am I the worker, the cleaner, the gardener, the laundry machine, but now according to some new novel, I have to be the woman who likes to be spanked and have inanimate objects shoved into her anus.
Having it all - I would like to give some back.