In other words, I believe that women don’t need men to do stuff for them, except when it comes to procreating or lifting things. However, my entire belief system has been shaken to the core by something so horrifying, it almost ruined my entire weekend.
When I arrived home on Friday evening an unwelcome visitor had moved into my bathroom. A wasp was happily cruising around. I can only assume it was in need of a tampon, because it was big enough to use a human one.
Okay maybe I’m exaggerating, but at 11.30pm I wasn’t in the mood to get stung in the eye by a giant insect, so I opened the window, closed the door and went to bed. “I’ve got this,” I thought, and went to sleep humming Independent Women and mentally patting myself on the back for handling the situation calmly.
As a result of my bathroom being out of bounds the night before, I woke up Saturday with a mascara-smudged face and a desperately full bladder. I raced into the bathroom, only to find the wasp had settled on my light fitting.
Suddenly I was feeling less like Destiny’s Child Beyonce and more like Jay Z’s wife Beyonce – I had a shower to get through, make-up to apply and no one around to brave a Doom attack that could end in insect-on-man violence.
And so began a series of ridiculous actions. A lot of my morning routine was done in the kitchen. I had to bath while eyeballing the wasp, who decided shortly after I came in to use the shower that it should hang out in there.
And I sent a lot of messages to a friend bemoaning how “the wasp was being a d*ck” while trying to apply make-up and watching the shower for movement. An insect had derailed my entire morning, which didn’t seem like something an Independent Woman should allow to happen.
Living alone has its perks – no one challenges me on what to watch on TV and I can walk around looking like something off The Walking Dead. However, it seems that being single is not without its pitfalls. Wasps and Parktown Prawns are left to run wild, dresses that zip up from behind often stay open until the person you Whatsapped in the office comes down to the parking lot to assist, and no one ever offers to do the dishes.
So what’s the answer? Dating someone for these services seems to be a bit shallow, and trained monkeys are surprisingly hard to come by. I think I’ll start a business for savvy single gals – Rent a Gent. The tagline could be something like “don’t let a Parktown Prawn ruin your independence”.
I think I’d make a killing.