Today, my wife and the ladies from her book club meet in our living room to review The Midwife of Venice. Needless to say, I have no intention of staying here while they discuss the literary skills of Roberta Rich. I have at times, been asked to stay and participate. I'm sure I would enjoy the discussion, but I know better. I always answer that I do not wish to intrude. What I really mean, though, is “you would not catch me dead advancing a male opinion anywhere near so much oestrogen.” You know what I mean.
I usually try to leave before the first of them arrives. My usual tactic is to pack my laptop and drive to either the local coffee shop or the library. My official intention is to work on my “stuff”, but what I always end up doing is to read the Globe and Mail and a magazine or two, all the while feeling somewhat flustered at having exiled myself from my own home.
When four o'clock rolls around, I jauntily return to my castle to find it empty of gossip. All the ladies are gone, except for my Queen, who for some reason is always in a particularly good mood. Sometimes, things are better between man and woman when they revert to primary school attitudes. What I mean here is that when all these women invade our living room, Blanche and I abide by “the girls with the girls and the boys with the boys”. It always works.
1 comment:
You've got the situation pegged exactly right. How smart you are to keep out of it and let the women do their thing. My husband does the same. Like you and Blanche, we have our own discussions later on a different playing field. It works out best that way.
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