The quality of yarn I used to knit myself a cardigan was disappointing. It started pilling on the second day I was wearing it and after a week I looked like a character from The Lady and The Tramp. Me being the tramp. Honestly, I did not wear it at night. It might look like that, but I haven’t slept in it.

Add to this outfit my unruly hair, plus some brown smudges underneath my eyes (a failed attempt to make me look prettier with eyeliner), and you might accidentally put me out with the bins. Something that was suggested by a family member once, and not even related to how I looked. I was told he would have put me there with the bins if I was his partner, because of the way I was behaving since I was ill. This is why I think men shouldn’t rule the world: with their testosterone telling them that they are right. And if it turns out they were not, or that a remark that was uncalled for, they simply state it was a joke. A lame one, needless to say.
I am not saying I have been in the best of spirits ever since my illness is troubling me, but I indeed am not one for bullying, shaming and name calling. So I won’t turn this article into men bashing. Even though they can’t help themselves *wink*, they are also human beings. All are equal, but men are far more equal than women. Another wink. My eyes keep blinking non stop. We women bat our eyelashes if we want to gain something men won’t give us after reasoning. Or we cry – now that is a subject I am rather good at.

Even though I might be a cry baby, I didn’t shed any tears over my failed knitting project, despite the hours it took me. Nor did I start sobbing when I was told I was rubbish, I was simply too stunned.
Behaviour fuelled by male hormones is definitely not worth crying over. But perhaps the lack of testosterone for us women is?


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