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The Battle of the Sexes Newsletter, Issue #044 Of Mothers and Men
July 09, 2012
Hi there

Of Mothers and Men

'What's the fastest way to a man's heart? Through his chest with a sharp knife.'

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Some of you may be familiar with the famous Scottish poet Robbie Burns. Others amongst you will know John Steinbeck. Both wrote ‘Of Mice and Men.’ A friend of mine was moaning about his wife some time ago, something on the lines of how henpecked he was, how much his wife nagged him, and similar bestialities. I was younger then, less versed in the ways of The Enemy, otherwise known as the female of the species. I gave him some sound advice (At least, it sounded like sound advice at the time). ‘Stand up to her,’ I said. ‘Are you a man or a mouse?’ My friend gave me a funny look. ‘A man, of course. My wife is afraid of mice.’

Which is all a round about way of saying that I have received a visitation from The Enemy. Not just any old enemy. This is an enemy with a vengeance. If the female is deadlier than the male, then my dearly beloved mother is deadlier than any deadly female. Some of you will remember my mother. My friends call her ‘The Inheritance’, or ‘The Patio’. Inheritance because she is filthy rich. Patio because that is where we are going to bury her when we have found her Last Will and Testament.

The old dear is paying me one of her famous visits. I think she assumes I have no friends and nothing to do all day, because she descends on me and expects me to drop everything for a fortnight and attend to her every whim and fancy. Basically, I can’t be bothered to argue. She says ‘Jump’ and I jump. At least I used to jump. I’m beyond jumping now. As a result of the ravages of time it takes me all my time to stand up.

Which is a shame really, as her sense of timing is immaculate. Every time I sit down, thankful for the opportunity to relinquish my duties as chief slave, cook and bottlewasher, she issues another command. ‘Make me a coffee.’ ‘Get me some cake.’ ‘Do the washing-up.’ ‘Tote dat barge, lift dat bale.’ I swear she does it deliberately. She sees me sink into the chair, and just as I am done sinking, she times her command to perfection.

I think Les Dawson had the right idea about mothers. Strictly speaking, he was talking about mothers-in-law, but I don’t care. ‘I had an awful weekend,’ he said once. ‘I went to Manchester to bury my mother-in-law, but she objected. She seems to have got it into her head that she should be dead first.’

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We men sometimes wish that we could order women to have sex with us. It would make our lives so much easier. All this chasing, wooing and rescuing damsels in distress can take it out of a man. In fact, come to think of it, if you don't have sex with us we should be able to have you arrested and thrown in prison. That would make a big difference in The Battle of the Sexes. Unfortunately it doesn't quite work like that, as this policeman found to his cost. Have sex with me or get arrested

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The next edition of this newsletter will be sent to you in two weeks' time.

Previous editions of this newsletter are available at Newsletter back-issues

New pages since the last newsletter:

Dr John Gray
Ways to get Revenge

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The Greatest Lover since Casanova

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