A sexist rant
As an alternative recognition of Valentine’s Day, Iâ€™m going to get sexist here.
Some years ago I stopped going to male doctors. Nothing to do with male eyes and hands, you understandâ€”ging through a couple of pregnancies tends to leave a woman with little bodily modestyâ€”but itâ€™s to do with what comes out of their mouths.
Iâ€™d go in with a question about my heart flutter, or the sore muscle in my shoulder, or the cough that wouldnâ€™t go away, and sooner or later, Iâ€™d hear The Question:
â€œAre you under stress?â€
This is a question Iâ€™ve never had a woman doctor ask me, simply because any woman whoâ€™s made it through med school knows that for Christ sake OF COURSE Iâ€™M UNDER &*$#@M* STRESS HERE, WHAT WOMAN IN HER RIGHT MIND ISNâ€™T THESE DAYS?
All in all it was easier to go with a woman doctor than to be arrested for strangling a man with his own stethoscope.
However, to be fair to the hairier sex, and at risk of offending my sisters, I will assert that there are some things men are better at. For one, male barristas make better lattes. I have, I admit, come across a few women who get the idea of putting some muscle into the process, but for the most part, the stronger the arm, the better the drink. A few years ago my local bookshop had a guy in the coffee bar with tats, piercings, bleached hair, and muscles out to there: heaven in a glass. I mourned when he left.
This sexist interval is now over.
Happy Valentine’s Day.