Thursday, July 31, 2008

He says, she says

I actually wrote this in a notebook last night because the internet had died at zuzula/mc towers. I originally intended to scan the paper and post that here instead of typing… but sadly the illegibility of my writing outweighs the authenticity of the post itself. So, this is what I wrote….

MC has ‘the boys’ round tonight (well, two of them. One very charming, who arrived bearing rose wine, the other a little more aloof. He hasn’t once made eye contact with me. Hmm). They have retired to the lounge, which has now become a den of kronenberg, leftover pizza, male guffawing and Rambo on DVD.

I, on the other hand, am reclining on the closest thing we have to a chaise longue, in the kitchen. I’m listening to Edith Piaf, leafing through Grazia magazine (which I generally find to be a mildly pointless read but it makes me feel stylish), enjoying a large glass of rose (see? charming) and having a very pleasant conversation on the phone with my grandmother about the delights of English honey.

So, the gender divide is alive and well… and actually I wouldn’t have it any other way. I really am getting old.

6 comments:

almostwitty.com said...

Hrm. I'm a bloke, but the charms of Rambo are somewhat lost on me...

zuzula said...

i think they were laughing at the commentary...

The Blonde Blogshell said...

Awww... I wish I had a granny I could talk over the phone with about English Honey...that sounds so awesome!
Great post :-)

zuzula said...

Hi BB,thanks and yes, my gran rocks! :)

Sunrise said...

The great divide for men is a vital charateristic of feeling manliness ooze through the stupid jokes we tell, like a monkey/baboon/chimp etc we need to beat our chests every now and again, so we feel like we still have the power (in whatever form). It just makes us feel like men, we need this archaic cave man characteristic.

Now pass me my bow & club, I am out to hunt for some dinner at the local grocer...

Monte Cristo said...

Actually, Sylvester Stallone's treatise on the plight of the Burmese is quite poignant in it's savagery. One is reminded of Bunuel and Truffaut in his choice of shot compositions and metaphors.

And the bit where he appears to punch a mans head clean off is ace.