Sometimes my wife accuses me of being sexist but I really don’t see how this can possibly be because a) I’ve acknowledged for some time that I consider women the superior species in every way and b) because I’m totally up for the idea of being a kept man.
I’m sure if I were a male chauvinist pig type I wouldn’t think that way at all. I’d be all: ‘Get behind that sink, woman, and make sure you’re wearing that kinky French maid’s uniform when I get back from the pub after a hard day’s bringing home the bacon or you’ll feel the rough side of my hand.’ The idea of being bankrolled by a mere woman would, I am sure, be anathema to me.
But that’s one of the great things about living in the aftermath of the feminist revolution. We men don’t have any male pride left — it’s forbidden — which means we’re now free to accept, without embarrassment, whatever largesse liberated womankind wishes to dispense to us.
In my case, I was hoping it might be one of the Fawn’s books that did the trick.
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