once-angelheaded sweeties who have lost the ancient heavenly connection to the star-mechanism generating harmonic energy throughout the cosmos,

who would be binge drinkers if they did not obsess about their figures,

who when they kiss communicate a flavour of sour envy,

who gather in small groups to verbally disembowel males of their acquaintance,

who try to exact puny revenges by casting doubt on the paternity of their children,

who passed through universities for three years writing extremely neat essays and developing feminist theories of unspeakable tedium,

who buy their underwear at Marks and Spencer, and blame their husbands because they cannot afford garments featured in Vogue,

who blame their husbands and other men also, men only and always,

who have lost the bright joy that illumined their life and can only shout at him on the underground,

who consider that they do not receive enough in child support, and would never think that they received enough, even if they were presented with all the jewels of Ophir and of Ormus every single week,

who do evening classes in step aerobics, and indulge in bonding sessions with other women

who deserve our pity, and need our prayers,

whom I refuse to blame, for I am bigger than that.

Wom Na Marrom

This mantra I repeat for all women.

Wom Na Marrom