Let me tell you something.
Close the door first.
No, check that there’s nobody outside then shut the door.
All clear? Positive? Good.
What- do you expect me to scream it to you across the room?? Come closer!!
Ok…now promise you won’t tell anyone…done? OK, here goes.
*takes deep breath*
I don’t like women.
I never have, I doubt I ever will.
And this includes all ages, all types.
I don’t like little girls; I think they try too hard to be dolls.
I don’t like teenagers- they’re either stereotypically dark and gothy, or stereotypically plastic. Or both- stereotypically. They claim they’re different- like all their friends do. Been there, done that; much better than you because I’m a great actress. Yawn.
I can’t stand 20 to 30 year olds. They’re just expired teenagers. And expired teenagers smell too strongly of expensive perfume and lack of soul.
And anybody who crosses 30 ceases to interest me anyway. Sorry.
To add irony to injury, I’ve studied in all girl institutions my entire life and have started working in an exclusively female design unit.
It has driven me to the point that I can’t hold it back any longer- this deep irritation that I have always had towards members of my own sex.
Will somebody- preferably female- in the audience please assure me that I’m not the only one? That another woman in this huge population of impossibly girly females also finds this concentrated clichéd femininity nauseating, and suffocating and downright dull?
I wish I had people to gossip about. It’s everybody else’s fault. Why are they so straight and narrow? People I know, start having extra marital affairs. If you’re not married yet, seduce someone who is. Give me something to share at these cat-fests.
I wish I actually paid attention while my shadi shopping was going on. Maybe then I could discuss more intelligently on the merits and demerits of various face powders, and compare the embroidery of Qartoba and Kehkeshan with painful, excruciating detail.
I also kind of wish I liked children more. Maybe then my ‘awwws’ would sound more convincing. And maybe then I’d be able to know which end of a baby is up- I’ve got a basic idea. Dribbly side is the top, smelly side is the bottom. Bingo.
Maybe if I actually tried remembering some of my more obscure relatives, I’d be more ‘in’ the conversation…or what if I intimately discussed the conversations between my fiancé and myself (and guarantee boring them to death :S)
Would that help me fit?
Groan…And I don’t even watch Indian soaps!!!
Why the f- is woman-talk so difficult???