A Love for Hating
Recently I was bestowed with a very special honour. A fellow scribe, but one with actual talent, unlike me, confessed to being part of a small but sure group who actually foster feelings negative towards me. I happened to be in their line of favourite past time activity since shoes and gossip: Hating. Women love to hate. Three billion of my brethren, more if you count those slain and buried, will testify that the only thing that can upset a woman more than having someone to love is not having someone to hate.
If surveys are anything to go by, there are more men on the planet than you, dear women. You should see that as positive choice range. It can also be assumed that if we men are here, God must have put us here with good re son. Genesis can’t be wrong, right? If the Almighty had wished you womankind to be truly hatred-free the world would have comprised only women and dogs, dogs who could chew on a piece of leather and make it into a fancy shoe. And were good listeners. Now that would have been your ideal world. But canines are no cobblers and ‘Biscuit’ is about all they like to hear. Most men are quite similar actually, obnoxious creatures that we are. And did I mention we don’t particularly care for listening?
So why the hatred? If you can accept last season’s sales stuff, or wearing the same top twice in one season, why are men so hard to work into the shredded fabric that is your lives? Hatred only breeds more hatred and both are dealt with by us men in the same manner: we shrug it off with the most nonchalant brand of indifference. Best to save up all that hatred and unleash it at your next kitty party, or ladies lunch, or however else you wish to salvage it.
As for me and my rant, it’ll go on. But don’t worry, all won’t be in vain: a statistical survey once highlighted that men rarely outlive women. So stick around, there should be some respite someday.
@magandeepsingh is a lover of wine and women
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