Harriet Walker: Women are just not taken seriously enough. What hope do we have of getting into boardrooms when the focus is so much on our bodies?
Pity the women – those poor hapless fruitloops who got themselves born into the wrong body. The body that bends weak minds to its own devious impulses; the body that finds more comfort in bed than in bench presses; the body that has within it the miraculous capacity to produce life and little people.
Scorn them too, for their inability to make it on their own: for their perennial reliance on handouts and sympathy from the lads and the law-makers. They just can’t help it: any endeavour they turn their little minds to goes sour or explodes in their faces, singeing so many false eyelashes and peroxide coifs.
This week has seen some of the most vast and varied comments about women and their status, all of them pointing to one thing: that we cannot get it right, no matter what. There were shrieks of disapproval at the suggestion that Cheryl Cole, Our Lady of Glamour, Domestic Tragedy and Tropical Diseases, might have put on some weight. This would not be an issue – because it’s trendy to decry women for being too thin as well, don’t forget – but it’s made Cheryl’s lovely little face go all puffy and funny. For shame Chezza! It’s your job to keep that phiz in good nick; what else do you do to occupy your time?
Then there’s model Irina Shayk, this month’s cover star of Sports Illustrated, whose undulating surfaces cause men and women alike to go a bit dizzy, except eeeek! as one tabloid points out, she’s only gone and left the house without shaving her legs. How disgusting, the golden glint of follicles on her otherwise flawless and mile-high legs. Honestly, it’s enough to put you right off gawping at her breasts.
Women, eh? They get all these opportunities and they still mess it up. That’s why the Government is seeking to help them get jobs and fit in with normal people. We all know it’s dangerous having dissatisfied minorities in our midst – not that you have anything to fear from women. They couldn’t organise a Tupperware party in a suburban living room. Or they could, but they’re either too weak from hunger to bother, or so fat that they don’t need Tupperware in the first place. What leftovers?