Conversation with a colleague:
I think women (at work) come in two types. There are women like you – independent, strong-natured type…you know they aren’t going to burst into tears because you tell them you don’t like their work. Then there’s this other type you have to be careful around because you never know how they’ll react.
Just as an aside, I stayed in late at work last week and was travelling back after midnight when mum called to check where I was. The same person, with me, looked a trifle surprised and then remarked,
It’s just that, with girls like you, one gets the sense that you can take care of yourself and don’t need protection. Whereas with X, Y, Z…they’re like little kids, you know?
“Would you slap me if I asked you to spend the night with me?”
I said, “No.”
He looked positively thrilled as he squeaked, “Are you sure?” (Perhaps he assumed I was saying yes to the implied question when I said no to the direct one….does that make sense? Search me….that’s male logic)
“Positive”, I monotoned,
“I don’t go around slapping people for things like this. There are worse crimes, you know.”
It is true. I don’t particularly enjoy violence. I didn’t even bat an eyelid when a roadside Romeo ran the oh-so-corny “Umar hai solah, kamar coca-cola” line on me last week. Yup, I’m a lily-livered, many-feathered chicken in such matters. Verbal warfare is my forte but no, I’m not getting into a clash with someone who might decide to fling some acid on me tomorrow.
Now a guy whom I know, that’s different. Well…not so very much. I would stay and defend my ground but I still don’t like the idea of hitting someone to make a point. I mean, if you can’t win by superior logic and intellect then maybe you aren’t superior after all. Why stoop to such base instincts, then?
I have only slapped a guy twice in my life. The first time was a mistake. A hot-headed 13-year old trying to handle peer pressure doesn’t think too clearly. In my case, I just delivered a stinging slap on the face of the guy I thought was passing around a photograph of Pooja Bhatt in a horrendous costume, with my name scrawled over it. As it turned out, someone else was responsible and he was just looking at it. Poor thing suffered a crush on me as well….which oddly enough, seemed to increase in fervour after this episode.
The second time, I wasn’t hitting. I was hitting back. And that needs no more justification than just that.
So yes, contrary to some popular perception, I do not carry artillery around
with me. (Yes, there was that one boyfriend who used to sign off his letters as “Xena’s guy”…..dysfunctional imbecile, he thought it was cute!)
Not that anyone seems to believe it. Why would anyone be surprised? You can say yes. You can say no. Yes, just say it. You don’t need to demonstrate it. Well, sure there are those who don’t understand the word the first time round. But there are a few hundred ways to convince them. None of them involve touching them.
Is the physical so important to underline the emotional, the mental? There are people who are subtle…I’m not one of them. But I don’t need to mash someone to pulp to prove that I’m not to be messed with.
As an endnote to women: Dahlings, if he’s annoying enough for you to want to hurt him, why touch him at all? If you have to hit, aim where it hurts….his ego. Men may come in all shapes and sizes but they are united on this one point. Sticks and stones may break his bones but a carefully phrased sentence can tear him shreds in an instant. A slap is nothing in comparison.
Choose your battles and use your words well.
The fine print:
And anyone who thought that this post had something to with kinky sex on account of its title and are still waiting…HAHAHAHA! Look at the title of this blog….I bet at least half the people who saw it first thought of steamy b-grade movies. I love word-play.