I’m tired! Please give me printed florals not power suits, lilies not laptops, soft kisses not handshakes, serenades not strategies and jewellery not jet lag. Any one of these would be a welcome change. Stop the earth, it’s time to disembark, I give up the fight to live as (wo)man in a man’s world. What is about modern-day gender wars that make it so goddamn difficult to be a woman? It’s a simple question isn’t it? F**k the fight for feminism! And James Brown! And Freud’s Penis Envy theory – what a load of crock – homme manqué? Hah, hah, all that’s missing are men, lose a rib type men – why don’t they find their inner vagina. After all, don’t they have an X and Y chromosome? Hhm, so why the hell am I having the identity crisis? Deep breath, deep breath … Equality has been a poor substitute for liberation; it has masked our hammering and led us into double jeopardy. I no longer wish to compromise what I am, the feminine mystique, for I am an emotional creature. I want to be free to be feminine along with all the accompanying girly glamour. Is that too much to ask? Free to be what I was meant to be; only I don’t know who that is anymore. I have to work harder to earn less, bear children to raise alone, replace a man in the absence of one, no wonder I’m going crazy.

So what do you do when you eventually decide to crush the balls turning you blue and finally embrace womanity? Well I say to hell with familiar allegiance. Instead throw a fist full of glitter in the air (thank-you Pink). And to the one I love, I know you’re out there; I want to curl-up and cry in the nape of your neck when I’m sad, I want to hide in your loving arms when the world’s been mean, I want to make wild love to you when I’m angry, I want you to touch me so gently I crumble, unshackled because I can’t be more like a man.