It has come to this blog’s attention that certain forms of behaviour previously thought to be gender-neutral may now be regarded as dangerously effeminate unless otherwise labelled. The following account of a day in the life of the author should clear up any lingering doubts.
I get out of bed, have a shower and then sit down to a breakfast of man muesli with man yoghurt.
Before I leave I put on my man coat – despite its velvet facings, it is definitely a man coat – and my man scarf. My man scarf was a gift from my man girlfriend and I knot it with a casual man flair.
I need these man items of clothing because it is cold outside. Man cold.
Then I man walk to the man bus stop and wait for the man bus.
Once on the man bus I get my man book out of my backpack: man critic Harold Bloom’s authoritative study of the great Irish man poet W B Yeats. I am troubled by the reflection that a study of a poet who believed in fairies and desired to be reincarnated as a lovely golden bird may not actually be that manly a man book. But then I recall that Harold Bloom is such a man professor of English literature that he once put his man hand on Naomi Wolf’s thigh when she was his student. Mmmm, now that’s man teaching.
I arrive at my workplace, which is a man university. I get a man cappuccino at the cafe and catch the lift to my man office, perhaps exchanging man gossip with any man friends who should happen to be in the lift.
After a long day of man office work – subtly differentiated from ordinary office work by the fact that I, a man, am doing it – I catch the man bus home.
Because it is a Wednesday, I have custody of my man children, who are all girls. I man cook their man dinner, and man put them to bed.
After I man do the dishes, I may relax with a beer, but most nights I have a cup of man tea.