First published in the Daily Maverick 168 weekly newspaper.

I am just going to say it and I will probably say it once and never again… I think. I realise that saying this is going to win me some foes and lose me some fans but who needs fans anyway, they just circulate dust and other bacteria that grow on you. One must never get comfortable with bacteria. The same way one must never get comfortable around men. I know that for a fact.

History has taught us that they cannot be trusted – and just to be clear, when women talk about men we already know “not all men”. So please sir, keep it to yourself.

But I digress. What I really want to say, and hold on to your bloomers here, is that I kind of feel sorry for men. And now I will say it, not all men. But some…

Men have pushed me over the edge enough times to really hate them. I have exceptionally little time to spare for them. Honestly, I will admit this openly, in some instances some men in my life who are actual family members merely need to exist for me to lose patience and all hope in the human race.

I was thrown over the edge long before I entered the formal workforce, long before being “mansplained” to, long before the term “incel” existed and way, way before the #MeToo movement, which we can all thank for the humming death rattle of the far too prolonged banality of the male prerogative.

The true to form contexts which the male species has offered us to dislike them are plentiful and indisputable. Toxic masculinity. A wholly misplaced sense of self-confidence, even in the most mediocre of them. Sexual, emotional and physical abuse. The patriarchy, the patriarchy, the patriarchy.

I could go on but I would rather burn my nipples off by squeezing them between a hair straightener.

But I have to say that while I clearly have a soft spot for the old-school feminist smack down of the testicular endowed, I am also back-tracking from that sharp edge ever so slightly because, my god, it is shit to be one. It is more shit now then ever. And so should it be but wow, if I were a man, I think it would be best to resort to the lifestyle of my ancestors and live in a cave, paint on walls and lose all ability of my Broca’s area so that I had zero language ability whatsoever.

What sparked this sudden and very rare compassion? Well, the other day my wife was thrown off her serve while playing tennis and lost focus on her game because a male gym goer came and sat on the bench in front of our court. “How am I supposed to play with this creep basically staring up my vagina?” she asked. “I mean does he live under a rock? Any man who has been around in the last five years at least knows that to sit and watch two women play tennis is completely unacceptable and not okay.”

I agree on both those points but kind of felt bad for the guy. What if he just liked tennis? The benches are there to take a break on so what gives? Of course it bugged me too because I do not put it past a guy to whip out his wang and give it a tug because he is so damn entitled – this has happened before, but at the same time I kinda felt bad for the nerd who had his shoes tied way too tight.

Then he took a call. “I’m already waiting on the bench outside the pool,” he said. “Okay no problem, I will get you inside then.” This oke was just innocently waiting for someone who had clearly given him specific instructions to meet at this specific place.

Is it fair to assume he just wanted to do some vag staring? But then again, what if he was following instructions… as an incel? DM168

This story first appeared in our weekly Daily Maverick 168 newspaper which is available for R25 at Pick n Pay, Exclusive Books and airport bookstores. For your nearest stockist, please click here.