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BRITISH WOMEN PRESSED FOR TIME
A new survey by deodorant firm Right Guard for Women, for the launch of their new ergonomically designed can, reveals that over 75 per cent of British females admit to taking drastic measures in a bid to save time. The shocking survey revealed the secret short cuts and unusual measures women take to save time and create more precious minutes. Over 500 women aged 18-34 were questioned in this survey and asked questions about time saving tips, action and adventure. Nearly a third of the women questioned admit that they chew gum instead of brushing their teeth before going to work. In London, one in three women don't even brush their teeth at all. Half revealed that they wear the same clothes as the day before and apply their makeup in the car or the train on the way to work. Forty per cent of women would prefer to have the extra five minutes in bed, showering or bath the night before and freshen up with a spray of deodorant in the morning. Twenty eight per cent admit that they have got ready for their working day in the toilets in their offices.
What is this? Women don’t have enough time because they waste so much of it? That’s why you hardly see female airline pilots. Delays would be a whole lot worse. 50 point checklists before take-off will include more than ‘front flaps and undercarriage’ I can assure you. “Hey co-pilot. Do I look older in this cap?” “Before we taxi can you tell me if you can see my pantiline?” “Would you like to have a feel of the cockpit?
Women know what they want, but they are only on time if they have nowhere to be.
To be fair to women.
Men don’t have to put makeup on so that free’s up at least another three hours a day for them. Men don’t have to use another hour to decide what to wear and a further hour trying to park the car. Shopping and standing in January sales queues for which women are never late, accounts for about 12 years of their life on average.
I was amazed to see a young girl putting makeup on behind me in a rush hour jam the other day. It’s true, women can do four things at once. They have that talent only because there are exactly four rings on a cooker. The microwave was invented to allow them to watch four soaps at the same time also. Anyway, this girl was putting on makeup in the rear view mirror. All stages. A blank canvas to full war-paint. She was doing this while nudging the car along and using the phone and smoking. See, my point? How on God’s green earth could she manage to do all those things while putting on foundation, mascara and lippy? Mind you. Just the same way a clown can juggle wearing makeup, he usually buggers the stunt up, and drops the balls. You’ve guessed it. This girl dinged me up the arse smudging her eyeliner at the same time.
Little damage to her car or mine, but when I stepped out of my stationary vehicle in the middle of bumper to bumper chaos and pissing off half the contents of the known industrial world, I scolded her soundly. I mentioned her dangerous and irresponsible behaviour to which she threw a hissy fit and pleaded that she ‘was late for the opticians!!’ I rest my case M’Lud.
Makeup is responsible for every accident and marital break up. The cliché ‘lipstick on the collar’ evidence has destroyed the most robust of relationships. So what’s the answer? Wear a shirt the same colour as your lover’s lipstick, that’s what. Worry more if you find lipstick on your pet dog’s collar.
So how do you disguise an affair? Gargle with TCP after your last clinch with your mistress. This will fill the room with a pungent odour to mask alien perfume scent.
Don’t buy flowers for your wife or partner to ‘wilt the guilt’? Buy her a socket set or board game. She will find such presents odd, but like chocolates or orchids it will not give the game away. Especially, if you are shagging a florist. Don’t shave or wash for weeks at a time. Any extra after shave, or pressed clothes will raise your wife’s suspicions. Also it means you can have sex in a graveyard and get covered in shit without worrying.
Don’t get your friends to lie for you as to your whereabouts unless you have the price of a pint for their kindness or they can get a handjob off her now and again as well.
Always check for ‘hickies’. Lovebites are the scourge of over enthusiastic marriage wreckers. Ask to have them put on the soles of your feet.
Always meet in Tesco’s. Play with exotic fruit together and get as many root vegetables squeezed and fondled, wildly clutching them with gay abandon. It’s not quite the same as foreplay but at least you know the avocados are ripe.
In public toilets get her to stand in a carrier bag in the gents cubicles. The attendant will not want to see men and women’s shoes together under the door, unless you want him to watch.
Get her to bring a friend out on your dates. But never use your own camcorder.
Don’t buy each other gifts and then proudly display them on the mantelpiece at home. Dildos may be luminous sometimes but they make crap candlesticks and will infuriate Jehovah’s Witnesses when you invite them in.
Tell her to bring her own linen around when your wife is out. Not just for discretion purposes but you don’t want her teeth-marks on the pillow. Only have affairs with quiet and demure girls. If you still get teeth-marks on pillows at all just make sure they are your own and blame them on leg cramp in the middle of the night. Be more concerned if there are notches on the bedpost on your wife’s side of the bed.
Never hold hands with your new lover in church or the GUM clinic.
Don’t use lager flavoured condoms because it’s an offence to drink and drive.
If your mistress is a strict vegetarian you may be forced to bury your salami somewhere else.
This ‘time’ issue. It was brought to my notice, actually, by a woman. That women, have to work full time, bear children, run a home whether they are single parents or not. First, I want to ask all those ladies out there of average intelligence (don’t write in if you have already been chosen) that if they got pregnant by a man who did not show a commitment to them or the child, then what are they doing opening their door to a complete arsehole anyway? I figure most single Mothers prefer to be alone than to have a wastrel roped to a TV remote to feed and pick up after. All the single women I know, while they find it hard to make ends meet, would rather work on the Siberian pipeline in spandex than have men under their feet.
Also, since women got to vote and because they proved they can ‘graft’ as the ‘Land-Army’ during the Second World War, by ‘pitching in’, making munitions, and having to wear very itchy serge knickers in the process, women, have been liberated from their servile roles as doting wives to men. It is now within the order of thing, and a rare thing these days, to see a women fluffing up the cushions and discussing homecare products with other subservient housewives. In fact the word ‘homemaker’ as a job description when presented on a C.V has all but disappeared from the dictionary and treated as a slight to their true femininity. They are not wenches to be thrown around the room like a rag doll. Passed from one man to the next, like a bottle of wine. They are no longer shrews or fishwives. They are maidens of muliebrity. They have turned from old bints and baggage’s, to Amazons. Goddesses. We blokes, live within petticoat government. How many men do you know go to a Quango? How many women hod-carriers have you met? See. They don’t do shit jobs. They don’t even have to be leered after, as an air hostess anymore, if they can get a pretty man to do it. Ever since the film ‘Calendar girls’ men have been put off ‘Snap On tool’ sets. So, it’s working. Women are in control of their sex. They even carry condoms when they are not ugly.
Women are equal and this usually means they have to be responsible for the share of the income in any household.
This is how it works in my summing up.
Before the Industrial revolution women, a woman was treated as a heathen if she wanted to work. But read how successful Madame Tussaud was, and she was nothing special to look at. (courtesy of www.madame-tussauds.co.uk) I read this portion about this astonishing woman and thought how difficult it must have been for an immigrant woman to start a business during the French revolution? Her success was due to making waxworks of people, and charging people to look at them through morbid curiosity. Certainly, if I wanted to stare at motionless people for hours, I would get a job at Gatport Airwick, or ask a teenager to mix interior paint for me at ‘Do-It-All’. Please read on.
FRANCE, 1770-1802
Through talent and determination, a young girl named Marie Grosholz came to be numbered among the most famous of English institutions.
1761Marie Grosholz, later known as Madame Tussaud, is born in Strasbourg.
1770 Marie's mother's employer, a doctor called Philippe Curtius, opens an exhibition of life-size wax figures at the Palais Royale in Paris. Marie learns the art of wax modelling from him.
1777 Marie models the famous author and philosopher, Francois-Marie Arouet Voltaire.1780Marie becomes art tutor to King Louis XVI's sister and goes to live at the royal court in Versailles.
1789 - The outbreak of the French Revolution. Marie returns to Paris, later helping Curtius to mould the heads of some of the guillotine's victims – among them her Versailles acquaintances.
1794 Marie Grosholz inherits Curtius's collection of figures.
1795 She marries François Tussaud, an engineer, but leaves him eight years later to bring the collection on a tour of the British Isles.
ENGLAND - TRAVELLING PERIOD, 1802-35
For the next 33 years, she lives the exhausting and precarious life of a travelling showman, moving from town to town with her caravans, organising advertising, and encouraging newspaper anecdotes, or organising charity benefits to bring in useful patrons. She suffers shipwreck in the Irish Sea, and fire during the Bristol Riots of 1831. Yet, throughout the travelling years, new figures are constantly introduced.
ENGLAND - BAKER ST BAZAAR, 1835-84
1835 Madame Tussauds settles into a permanent home in The Bazaar, Baker Street, London."Visitors entering the Bazaar from Baker Street proceed to a saloon richly decorated with mirrored embellishments. Here sits an aged lady, with an accent which proclaims her Gallic origins. Were she motionless, you would take her for a piece of waxwork. This is Madame Tussaud, a lady who is in herself an Exhibition."- from an 1842 guidebook
1846 Punch Magazine coins the name "Chamber of Horrors" for Madame Tussauds separate room where gruesome relics of the French Revolution are displayed.
1850 Madame Tussaud dies. In her old age, supported by two sons, she had achieved great success. She had resisted a U.S. buy-out, her memoirs had been published, and her portrait was painted by a court painter. She had been immortalised by Dickens (as Mrs Jarley) and caricatured by Cruikshank. MOVE TO MARYLEBONE ROAD
1884 Madame Tussauds grandson, Joseph Randall, directs the move to the present site in Marylebone Road. FIRE & RE-BUILDING
1925-281925 Fire guts the whole building, destroying not only almost all the wax figures and their costumes, but priceless furnishings, paintings and relics too.
Fortunately, many of the old head moulds were saved, and from these the Exhibition was rebuilt, opening 3 years later with the addition of a large Cinema and Restaurant. WAR BRINGS ABOUT PLANETARIUM
1940 A German bomb destroys the Cinema. Ironically, the figure of Hitler is one of the few figures to survive unscathed.1958Madame Tussauds opens the Commonwealth's first Planetarium on the site of the old cinema.
What a gal! So if you want to see this ladies waxworks of famous people, travel to London and pay £20. Alternatively, wait for the next House of Commons debate.
Women want to live on ‘Borrowed time’, by leaving notes for you, like ‘the dinners in the cat’.
Here is a fact. The saying goes “Time waits for no man”. So, clearly the woman has been omitted out of the equation.
When the Landlord barks. “Time gentleman please” during last orders, women are not included. So, who needs a woman to say to you, when you get home “Do you know what time it is?”
The only ‘time’ they are likely to get a mention is when there are not enough lifeboats to go around, and guess what?
‘Muggins’ is left waving goodbye to his family, life and fortune.
Andrea, is highly organised. It’s terrifying! I could ask her what’s happening on Tuesday, next week, and she will know without consulting her diary. Who needs a diary when you have Teletext? Similarly, if you asked her what I was doing three years ago, on a Thursday, she will likely remember. You see women memorise everything that is meaningless and forget what is most important to the average male. For example, “Darling, where did I put my trainers?” Or, “The clams are getting low.”
Why is it, if the object you have spent an hour looking for, and she has ferreted away, is hidden because, its only crime, is that it looks remotely like it might be a vital, technical piece of equipment? Even, in its simplest form, it will put away in the ‘never know when you might need it drawer’. I said, “Why, did you put the digital camera batteries in the “never know when you might need it drawer”, for Gods sake?” All she said was. “I thought they needed to be with the condoms.”
Another time, I asked my wife, what she thought a ‘Ratchet’ was, and she said “Is it a little bit bigger than a mouseshit?”
But, teasing aside, her brain is jammed full of the most incredulously irrelevant information. Like, when library books are due back. Where my repeat prescription, or birth certificate is. The date of the next school parents evening. Who gets the timeshare? How? To fill in reports to the Child Support agency.
When we go on holiday I follow her around like a ‘prairie hat’ asking her where everything little thing is. She packs, and I get to check the oil and water on the car. One time, I playfully asked her to check the levels in the engine, and she looked at me, like I had crawled out of a swamp. Sorry. But if I have to learn how to pack a picnic, why is it too much trouble, to ask a woman to learn some very basic motor maintenance. Throughout this holiday preparation, I am being admonished and scolded about my inability to fold underwear, just to make allowance for more gratuitous clothing I will never wear, in this country, never mind abroad. I have more costume changes than Mariah Carey, yet, she cannot recognise, a silly little dipstick, like me. I like to wear shorts and a T shirt on holiday. When the T shirt gets dirty I buy another one. Yet, what usually happens? I am caught like testicles in a haybaler, trying to get a suitcase needing a caesarean, off an airport luggage carousel. Why? Because it is stuffed to bursting with clothes I have never even seen, or knew I owned, and that would probably never see the light of day. I plough through other frantic ‘searchers’ of luggage being dragged like I have been gored by a bull and soon to be eaten by toothy and grubby, rubber strips, because I was unable to lift the bastard thing off the conveyor.
Travel irons? Who needs a travel iron? It’s four inches high and I’m four feet wide. I’m not going to live long enough to iron anything I wear. I’m the size of the Tundra. A battery driven travel iron is good for warming your socks first, but that’s it. Slip them over the gizmo, one at a time, leaving your feet like toast. Remember, always to take the iron out first, before putting on your socks.
Females have so much going on in their heads, while all we men can cope with, is making more room in the shed. Is it a maternal thing? Mum’s used to remember everything for us boys, when growing up? Except whose beer round it is.
If it were not for my mother, I would have died in road accidents telling the entire street she had run out of wash powder.
I would have struggled to find my school without her. Ever since she showed me how to put a balaclava around the right way, that is.
My Mother recognised my puberty, and left a handkerchief under my pillow from about the age of 13. It was her discreet signal that body fluids may take me by surprise during the night. I assumed that since nobody had explained the facts of life to me in detail, that she expected me to get an unannounced hay-fever attack at any moment. After the end of each week on washday I would hand her the crumpled and crispy nose-wipe, for her to launder. Not a word was spoken. Until the day I had very bad bronchitis and for some reason was rushed by her, to the Doctor’s, to have my penis examined.
Invisible mending. What Mother has to darn socks anymore? What woman ‘shucks’ peas, peels shallot’s, makes jam, or has a laundry day etc? My Grandmother used to spend all day rubbing away with a giant ‘copper’ in the kitchen. Thank God the Chief Inspector or My Grandfather never found out.
The twin tub has been replaced by ‘the appliance of science’. Technology invented by man. Hence the reason why car baby-seats were invented by a man, because you can tell, that the creator was probably childless.
Women have loads of time now because of labour saving devices. Male aupairs. Automatic cars. (They still have to be there to drive them though) Home mail ordering services. After school clubs. Structured nurseries. Community groups. Mother’s support groups. Prenatal. Postnatal. Microwaves have replaced lengthy cooking spells. How many women do you know, have an allotment? No, they just get the Internet to deliver all the food. They only go shops to try free perfume testers. Home Pregnancy tests take just seconds. In the old days you had to wait months before a local priest found out.
Women work because they want to work. For independence, to make ends meet. But allowing women to take charge of their own money is only going to create more shopping days before Christmas.
Look at the calendar. Here is where all a womans’ time goes.
January. Too many ‘sales’.
February. Too many sale returns.
March. Hair, skin and nails.
April. Yoga.
May. Ikea.
June. Book a holiday.
July. Have a holiday.
August. Moan about the holiday.
September. Have another holiday to make up for the last one.
October. Health farm to make sure you had a good holiday.
November. Shop for Xmas.
December. Queen’s speech.
What a busy schedule! With a week from each month that is not included because of ‘women’s problems.’ This accounts for 12 weeks a year, or 9 years of any marriage. That’s why couples get married later, than the previous generation. It brings the menopause a bit nearer, minus the earache. This strange malady has also prompted male inventions, like liquidisers and food processors, because at least seven days in thirty, women should not be around sharp cutlery. Men in history, knew nothing of PMT, because it hadn’t been invented. If all the women in the world inhabited the Isle of Wight they would synchronise menstruation, and men could visit in the ‘safe period’ without getting abused.
These calculations do not include buying icecream, and chocolate, and reading copious glossy ‘celeb’ mags that trees have to die for.
Girls. Why not write in and tell us what you think of men, and how much you like to delete important emails and interrupt them?
Go on give us hell!
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