Dear Angry Agony Aunt,
I don’t know whether I’m Arthur or Martha. Can you help me out?
Knowing your gender is a tricky business. One minute you’re mowing the lawn and waxing your Holden but end up waxing your bits and crying when watching ‘Ghost’. Boy, wasn’t that a confusing movie? One minute Whoopi’s playing Whoopi, then she’s playing Patrick Swayze, touches up Demi Moore then turns back to being Whoopi. That’s an Arthur/Martha is a real confusing and creepy way. But not as confusing as Victor/Victoria - a woman, dressing as a man, dressing as a female impersonator. The only way I can explain this to regular people, is that Victor is a superfluous middle man. Much like literary agents.
But back to you. The easy way to find out if you’re an Arthur or a Martha is to ask someone. But it doesn’t sound like you’ve got any friends or co-workers that actively talk to you, so we’re going to have to go to Plan B. I must confess, Plan B is simple but painful. So, like all of my ex-boyfriends, all care is taken but no responsibility is accepted.
Okay. Go to a day care centre and sneak into the kids sick bay. Sit on the floor, colour in if you like but make sure you breathe in that germy goodness. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. But whatever you do, don’t get within smacking distance of the kids. The aim of Plan B is to only get a tiny, tiny, little cold. This is because if you have an itsy bitsy tiny little cold and find yourself heavily complaining about it, you know you’re a man.
However, if you’re unable to get into a childcare centre, for your obvious anti-social behaviour, visit a ladies toilet area. If the ladies scream, you’ve just found out you’re a man. That, or a very, very, very ugly woman.
Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com
