A woman is always in the wrong

Last night I watched the football match between Liverpool and Man. U. I was pretty excited by the fact that somebody will buy me a lunch today because I won the bet: MU beat Liverpool!

I know there are millions of women like me out there, but not in this small circle of friends and relatives that I have here. I was 100% sure that all of my female colleagues (all 9 of them) were already in bed while I was passionately cheering for Tevez and his teammates. Yesterday a male colleague expressed his surprise knowing that I cared for making a bet over a football match. It’s perfectly understood – his incredulity – as much as I refuse to believe that a man who doesn’t dig football is a real man. Psh! πŸ˜€

The football case is just one small example among many other deviations that I seem to excel at. When I was being logical and tactical, they called me a snake. When I showed that I knew what I wanted, they called me a bitch. A man said to me, not long ago, that he still believed that I could be a good mother to my daughter, no matter what. I refused to accept this shady sympathy. What does he know how my daughter and I relate to each other? To me I am as good as I get, period.

I am not Beth in Shepard’s A Lie of the Mind, though we both do some acting stuff and we had troubled marriages. My head was not literally knocked out. And, unlike her, I will not end up loo loo (I hope!) Perhaps I’m just lucky. πŸ˜‰

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