Men understanding women, and vice-versa.

Think about it. How long have we debated and cogitated the little nuances together with the huge great chasms that make our genders so infuriatingly different, so intriguing. So exasperating!

When all is said and done I’m a practical kind of girl; if there’s a use for something I’m there waving the flag. It gets the Debsy seal of approval. If there is no use however, then I kind of scratch my head wondering “why?”. Except for ridiculously high, feet-deforming shoes (preferably from Gucci); they’re beautiful and therefore don’t need to be useful.

Which is why I don’t understand the growing trend for our great minds of science to learn how to clone sheep, or maybe create a hybrid pig-cauliflower to eclipse all previous test-tube horrors

No, scientists need to do something useful for the good of all man (and woman)- kind. We need to be able to inhabit the mind of the opposite sex for a week.

Cravings, hormones, mood-swings et al. Give it to us. We’re sick of condescending books that tell us why the objects of our desire act the way they do.

Now I would hazard a guess that there are people of both sexes out there who would balk at the thought, but why not? All those who sit lambasting men or women as “a nightmare” and “certifiable” really need to walk in the accused’s shoes before dishing out such damning critiques.

I discussed this very subject with my pal Rachael earlier today, and I am ashamed to say I came out with the obvious statements like “A week drinking beer, watching sport and viewing inappropriate material on the web … how tough can that be?” But thereby hangs my point; I must think it’s easy being a man, and I’m pretty sure it’s not. So show me!

As for female idiosyncrasies, well I think it’d need be a particular week, not any old week that men experienced, those that is who chose to accept this challenge. Yes, THE week. Those seven little days when you don’t know whether you want to laugh, cry or throw a plate at someone. Those seven days when even the teeny tiniest little task is overwhelming, you could quite easily throw yourself on the floor sobbing and wailing because nobody understands, loves or appreciates you and where’s the chocolate, anyway?

Now as I woman I accept my hormonal fluctuations. I haven’t embraced them exactly, and I’m still longing for the day when what we know as “the menstrual cycle” is replaced by something more civilised like “state-funded massage” (hey, if we can put men on the moon … why not?). But I don’t understand hormones and I fully appreciate how men must throw their hands up in desperation. So step up men … experience the joys that are thrust upon us every four weeks.

Having said all this I fear I’m painting a bleak and dreary picture of what it is to spell your name w-o-m-a-n.

Not at all.

The best things for me? Lipstick, hair and all the things you can do with it (Dannii Minogue is testament to the fact it doesn’t have to be long hair ..), perfume, acting coy, high heels (yes, I know I’ve mentioned them but they are … sensational!) and feeling like you can conquer the world when you’re on top of your game. Being a woman is incredible and you men don’t know what you’re missing.

Similarly you need to sit, analyse and pester all your friends about your love-interest. Yes. Pull every conversation apart that you ever had … put it all back together again and be even more confused than the point at which you started. You need to do that.

And we girls need to take everything, anything and everyone at face value. A friend of mine once said “If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and sounds like a duck, what do you think it is?” He was an idiot. You see girls hate all that black and white stuff, especially when there are so many shades of grey and numerous other palettes out there, but I cannot deny I’d like a piece of the “noir et blanc” action please.

All things considered, I’m far more relaxed these days about this topic, but I wouldn’t mind a trip round the male psyche. I’d like to say I understood why we’re different rather than purely accepted it, and to do that you have to experience it. As I repeatedly tell my son, “you don’t know until you try something”..

Imagine a world where the sexes understood each other. Finally.

Boring, or blissful?

Hmmm.