Oneitiscel
Failed Jestermaxxx LDAR Extraordinaire
★★★★★
- Joined
- Nov 13, 2018
- Posts
- 6,976
- Online time
- 2d 16h
I regret belittling men; at 63, I’ve ended up alone
I had always imagined I would end up married with two wonderful children and living in a house in the countryside. I have paid a hefty price for my so-called liberation
A few years ago I went to Italy with my then-boyfriend, James. As we sat tucking into a plate of frutti di mare at a seaside restaurant, I struck up a conversation with the waiter in Italian. While I was enjoying myself, James sat glumly and fiddled awkwardly with his phone. Back in the hotel room he asked why I had ignored him. By speaking in a language he didn’t understand, he said I had managed to make him feel small.
I could see his point. I spent quite a while chatting away, oblivious to how he must be feeling.
I’m convinced that the reason I’m still booking a table for one at the age of 63 instead of having settled with a significant other is because, like so many women of my generation, feminism has ruined my love life. Instead of empowering us, those ideals of the second-wave feminists made us believe marriage and domesticity were to be avoided like the plague and that men were competition rather than partners.
I might have a successful career as a writer and broadcaster, but I have never had children or been married, and my longest relationship lasted eight years. I regret this; I had always imagined I would end up married with two wonderful children and living in a house in the countryside. I have paid a hefty price for my so-called liberation.
By the time I was 25 clutching a degree in French and Italian, I was a bright, confident feminist, keen to flex her intellectual muscles and to never let a man get the last word. I read Nietzsche for fun and my bedside table has always buckled beneath the weight of substantial, intellectually challenging books. At first, men loved my wit and intelligence. “You’re such a breath of fresh air”; “I love talking to you”; “You’re the first woman I’ve met who stimulates me,” they’d trill.
That was until I had lectured them for the umpteenth time on the virtues of modernism. “You’ll never win an argument against Kate,” one man said as he watched me outsmart yet another potential lover. Subtext: don’t bother.
If a date bought me a bouquet of flowers, instead of smiling and putting them in a vase of water. I would bite their head off. “Can’t you buy me some nice olive oil or balsamic vinegar?” I said with an eye roll, to one hapless suitor as he stood wilting faster than the fragrant offering he held in his hand.
You gotta love it when cunts like these get their comeuppance





