Curious, the nature of women’s friendship. I feel more of a common bond with my female friends than I do with male ones and yet I am aware that sometimes women just are judgemental and acid towards each other. I’ve seen it and, I’m afraid, occasionally, I’ve done it. But I’m not sure why it happens or what it’s about. We don’t really do it to men and we don’t do it when men are around. Are we just like hens, who seem to be all getting on fine, pootling away amicably in the farmyard, until one suddenly takes a savage peck at another?
Take my book group. My real life one, not my online one, which is having a rest at the moment (sorry, everyone) while I dash about doing wedding planning. We’re all lovely in the book group, obviously. But we are having something of an unacknowledged tussle over nibbles. Should our evenings involve a proper sit-down dinner, or should we have snacks only (and wine, obviously)? Is opening a bag of crisps enough to show the group that we welcome them and enjoy their company, or will only two courses and a pud suffice? I am in the nibbles camp, particularly after moving, partly as I don’t have much time to prepare something these days and partly because there are a daunting number of brilliant cooks in our number, and I’d like to opt out of the competition. Not that it is a competition, you understand, but I feel that it has the potential to become one. I’ll see your risotto and raise you a River Cafe sea bass, kinda-thing.
Oh dear. I suppose men are competitive, too. But they do it via football, in a my-team’s-better-than-yours sort of way. And, if their side should lose, it’s not their fault as they themselves weren’t playing. Whereas if your souffle doesn’t rise …. well, need I say more?
Maybe I should become a rabid supporter of women’s netball. Or go on a cookery course.
