Khadija Magardie
Body Language
Allow me to admit it I’m all for a bit of role playing where members of the opposite sex are concerned. Not a tte–tte that may involve riding crops, or Superman capes, more along the lines of my liberated woman sensibilities giving way to a genteelness of helpless abandon; especially when I am just that helpless.
Like many before and after me, I have cottoned on to the idea that feigning cluelessness on certain matters a trait much admired in women is a more comfortable option than endlessly debating with men why, despite women’s lib, you still cannot change a tyre or wire a plug, et cetera.
Few of us have grown up without the steady diet of knights in shining armour rescuing damsels, or of stiff upper-lipped, moustachioed soldiers, patriotic flames burning in their breasts, riding off to war to protect the honour of “the ladies” back home. And where other members of my sex would balk at the idea, I actually find the doe-eyed, Miss Scarlet O’Hara look rather useful in situations where, simply, nothing less will do.
Heaven forbid that this idea should give further encouragement to those women out there who take such advantage of the knight principle that they may incite men to all sorts of things even murder. Being a veteran of the lachrymose brigade during my student years which came in handy when getting extra time on assignments from male deans far be it for me to prescribe during which occasions it is perfectly acceptable to revert to damselhood. But for anyone who is interested, here are a few pointers:
l Any time where there are asphalt and engines involved.
Any woman who has been stuck or had an “incident” on the freeway will attest to the fact that a woman by the side of the road, especially if there are children in the car, is a “knight magnet” if there ever was one. Of course, with the changing face of crime in this country motorists have now become even weary of the traditionally docile species who may be packing a bit more than a baby, or some tablecloths, on her back.
A recent episode, involving myself, a baby, a burst tyre and a phalanx of brush-cut, burly policemen who rescued me, brought things into clearer perpsective. Despite repeated dire predictions from the male members of my family I, like many women, remain a car philistine. Asking someone of our kind who only remember to check the oil when the car starts coughing hideously to change a tyre is somewhat farcical. One of the reasons women perhaps never learn is that they are sure that, if and when the time comes, there will always be a man there to do it for her not, as some brothers assume, because she is too dumb to learn but because she is lazy.
l To anyone who starts sentences with: “Would you like to try out …”
How many of us have said: “I’ll have to ask my husband,” to the pesky salesman at the Rand Show trying to sell you yet another unnecessary potato peeler?
l Where there may be manual labour involved and you have something better to do:
Call them traitors to the cause, or what you will, but there are women out there who make regular use of this tactic. Why, they ask, should they break their backs trying to move the cupboard or mend the leak in the bathroom when all they have to do is marshmallow up their voices, bat their eyelids and ask for help from the nearest male. Not only will it be freeing up time for themselves but they will also give the male in question his long-awaited chance to play knight. After all, what could the harm be?
l And now for my personal favourite: to anyone at your doorstep who may require you to make a decision about hiring him, accepting a summons, explaining why he has to cut your water supply or whose account remains unpaid: pronounce regally, “The master is not home.”
What knights, and many men in general don’t get, though, is that asking for help with one or another menial task is not a sign of women acquiescing their intellectual inferiority to men. It is sheer laziness, which, unless the woman works as a diesel mechanic or on an oil rig herself, is foolproof and convincing. The knight’s help is appreciated, and it should always be acknowledged.
A word of caution, though. If the knight steps in with the “just look at what you’ve done, let me take over” look, it could be a bitter time for die-hard feminists whose ideas of liberation may mean kicking men in their groins for opening doors for them. They should throw this little (sub) missive away.