Have you ever been so incandescent with rage that you can't speak? I admit I have, many times, it's part of my nature - in a get-it-off-your-chest kind of way. But something has riled me so much recently that I'm struggling to find the right words to express my anger. I need to compose myself and not charge in like a bull in a china shop, as my good friend Dave pointed out - he's known me more than 30 years so he has a right to make a valid point. Jeez, though, what is it now that's got me so wound up, I hear you yawn?
In a nutshell, sexism. Before I go into full on sweary, ranty and Victor Meldrew mode, I should point out that I have spent the last 13 years living with a sexist pig and if you read my previous post you may put two and two together and realise you don't need a calculator to work out my current dilemma. But the sexism in my current incandescent raging state of fury is a lesson at Amy's school that seems to have become an excuse to talk about all things concerning fucking nonsense, known as PSHE. I don't know the teacher who stands at the front of the class and lectures these vulnerable teenage girls but I make it my mission to assure she gets to know me. Last week, my 14 year old hormonal teenager told me how they've been talking about masturbation, conception, contraception, and most worryingly, how cute babies are - to some maybe, to me, not. They haven't been told how much hard work they are, what a huge mountain of responsibility they bring, how they change your life, you know, all the things we parents find out once we've opened our love tunnels and introduced one into the age of iPads. Oh no, babies are cute and cuddly and something - wait for it - "every woman wants."
Unfortunately, that's just the bun in the oven; we haven't got to the icing bit yet. According to my daughter's invisible teacher, when her female pupils are older, they will want to get married and have children because this is what women do. And... when they've got their cute and cuddly bundles of snot and tears, it will be their responsibility to nurture and bring them up. Dads will help occasionally but it's more or less mum's responsibility. And guess what else our resident sexist woman of the world made clear? That these women who have waited all their lives to destroy their under carriage and be tied to a bag of Pampers, will also "want to" and be "expected to" do all the housework.
Is this what we really want for our next generation of women? Some girls will grow up, get married and have the experience of teething gel and regurgitated formula, but my girl wants to grow up and work with animals. What right does anyone have to put ideas into MY daughter's head about what she will do with her future?
I'm thinking about this one carefully because I will not be bullied into assuming this ludicrous excuse to waste a few hours a week at school is what Amy really needs. Our kids need to be taught the facts of life. What they don't need to be taught is how giving their boyfriend a blow job could be a wonderful experience. Sex between consenting adults should be a beautiful thing, not a sordid experiment.