The Random Interferer

Do you know who I hate?

Who really gets up my nose?

Women. That's who.

Don't worry. I'm not about to jump whole heartedly into a misogynist diatribe against the whole of the female species. To be honest, I'm under the opinion that compared to ladies men are a bit crap and, for the most part, we are happy to admit it*.

I am just taking about a certain type of woman: The Random Interferer.

Most stay at home dads will know these good for nothing busy-bodies very well. They creep up behind you in public parks and accost you in restaurants with the sole aim of instructing you in the fact that, in their opinion, YOU ARE WRONG! You are a man, so no matter how confident, well informed and sensitive a father you are, they feel that they have the right to interfere with your day, make judgments upon your parenting skills and be openly patronising, weird or downright offensive in the name of womankind.

The other day, I was waking in the park with my daughter and, as babies often do, she started crying. Not random whinges but that specific and definite cry that says "I'm hungry." I checked my watch and yes, we were about ten minutes off her usual lunch-time, so we headed back towards the house. Me, shaking bells, rattles and making little effigies of animals dance and sing in an attempt to keep her distracted, giggly and happy. The sun was shining, the birds were singing it was a lovely day. But then:

Gnome-like in stature with a face that looked like she had spent the last forty years chewing on a cob of shite, the Random Interferer made her move. "Yootryina'gedthababit'sleep?"
"What?"
"Yootryina'gedthababit'sleep?"
"Sorry?"
"Are-you-trying-to-get-that-baby-to-sleep." She placed her hand upon her hip and stretched her neck awkwardly into the position of 'arsey', "Because, you're going totally the wrong way about it, if you ask me!"
"Well I'm actually trying to get the baby home, and I'm fairly sure that I am going the right way," I answered, " I live there you see."
I wanted to add, "And no, I didn't ask you. Next time I want parental advice, my first port of call is unlikely to be a gnome in a tracksuit wandering about a park." but I didn't. I was afraid.

It has happened quite a bit. Its not just random gnomes either. Criticism of my choice of restaurant seat will be freely made by seemingly well educated sticky-beaks. "I hope you don't mind me saying love, but I'm a mother of three and I wouldn't sit in an isle seat on a day when soup is on the menu. I hope you don't mind me saying."

Well, yes I do fucking mind. If I was a stressed, angry mum with a ciggie hanging out of my mouth, kicking my child up the arse in the middle of Netto, you'd steer well bleeding clear of offering 'friendly' advice then. It was the only table available and since none of the waiters are dressed as clowns or show obvious signs of having an inner ear infection I think we can stay reasonably safe from flying broth.

All the time, women I have never met:
"She's tired" - She's just woken up.
"She's thirsty," - She's just had her bottle.
"Where are her shoes?" - She's just taken them off.
"She's in the sun," - she's under a parasol and wearing block so fuck off and leave... oh yeh, she is. I'll move her sorry.

The fact is that women feel free to criticise just because I'm a man. Some of it is down to the fact that women know first hand that men are crap at relationships, household chores, parenting and anything else that distracts us from watching the telly. So, there's a bit of forgiveness there on my part.

Some of it is just due to the fact that generally mothers are a bit more uptight than fathers when it comes to risk.
"My god, he's got the electric drill."
"Oh leave him, it's only a 15 volt."

But for the most part, I feel its because the dominant sex is now starting to colonise the traditionally female area of parenting. It is, I suppose, only to be expected as part of a society that feels it is becoming more equal. Some women, especially those who have not felt the benefits of our supposed equality, feel that the little ground they possess is being taken away from them.

Which is all very well, but men don't go up women and tell them how to do their jobs or assume there's certain tasks that they will be less able to do because of their sex.

Don't they?

Oh dear.

The boot's on the other foot - and I can't abide the taste of shoe-polish.



* Especially if it gets us out of the ironing.