I’m like, ‘Feminists? Jesus, are they still going? So what do they want now?’
I WAS NEVER invited back to one of Sorcha’s book club meetings after the night I confused The Hare With the Amber Eyes with the adventures of Little Nutbrown Hare and made a total orse of myself in front of a bunch of her old UCD mates, as well as Gary, our divorcee neighbour, who, by the way, happens to have a serious thing for my wife.
It wasn’t actually, like, spelt out to me that I was no longer welcome? It was just that Sorcha never mentioned the club to me ever again.
Occasionally, roysh, I’ll ask her what the latest book is and she’ll go, “The Help” or “The Five People You Meet In Heaven” or “The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society” and then she’ll straight away go, “What are your plans for that night?” as in, “Er, don’t actually be here when it’s on”.
I like to keep an eye on Gary, though. He looks at Sorcha the same way I’ve seen other goys look at her – just stares at her, not even blinking, with a stupid little smile playing on his lips, whenever the girl opens her mouth, even if it’s just to say, “I loved the premise but I found it difficult to empathise with any of the main characters,” or some other bullshit.
The dude is hopelessly in love with her, although Sorcha’s too innocent to even see it. So I always make sure to come home about half an hour before the book club finishes up. Not that I think anything might happen. But when another bull seal has designs on your stretch of beach, you sleep with one eye open.
So Thursday night I come home – four or five pints of Hydrogen in me – stick my head around the living room door and go, “What’s the book this month?”
They’re all sitting around in a circle, big serious faces on them, like they’re in the waiting area of the Four Courts, ready for their case to be called. Claire from Brayruit rolls her eyes and shakes her head before I’ve even said a word, which is her usual MO, as if it’s the idea of me she finds ridiculous rather than the stuff that tends to come out of my mouth.
I step into the room and pick the book up from the coffee table. There’s a bird on the cover who I’m pretty sure I recognise from Loose Women.
“It’s Caitlin Moran,” Sorcha goes. “How to Be a Woman?”
Claire sees an immediate chance to get on my case. “Oh my God,” she goes, “he’s looking at her photograph, trying to decide if he would or not!”
I’m there, “Er, I’m also trying to work out have I seen her on, like, Loose Women?” Sorcha smiles at me patiently. “Yes, Ross, she’s been on Loose Women. But she’s also an amazing, amazing feminist.” I’m like, “Feminists? Jesus, are they still going?” Claire laughs, except in, like, a bitter way? “Yes, Ross, we’re still here!” Claire, by the way, is no more a feminist than I am.
I flip the book over and stort reading the back cover. I’m there, “So what do they want now?” because it’s impossible to tell from the blurb.
It’s Amie with an ie who pipes up next. “Feminism isn’t a list of demands, Ross!” I’m like, “So what is it?” There’s a lot of sighing and head-shaking going on but no one gives me an actual answer. And so – possibly the effect of all the pints – I go, “Feminists to me are the same as those 14-year-old kids you see hanging around outside the Central Bank on a Saturday afternoon, looking unhappy and wearing Nirvana T-shirts – as in, it’s great that you’re into something, but you weren’t actually alive when it basically mattered?”
That stuns the room into pretty much silence. Then someone – I think Evelyn, who did Orts with Sorcha – tells me that she actually feels sorry for me. Just as I’m about to go, “Well, I’ve never been afraid to call it,” and take my bow, the famous Gary decides to throw his nought-point-nought-two euro into the convo. He makes a big show of it as well, holding his two hands up as if in surrender, then going, “I’m going to say something controversial here. I actually agree with some of what Ross is saying – although not quite with the way he’s articulated it! Now, I’m saying this as someone who’s actually a feminist himself.”
Oh, he’s good! See, this is why he has to be watched.
“I’ve read a huge amount of literature on gender politics and – I’m sorry – I just think this is a feminist book in the same way that the Spice Girls were a feminist pop group. If anything, it’s a collection of very amusing titbits about women’s lifestyle experiences with feminism used as a trope to sell it as a book of academic merit. It’s a terrific read. But, like Ross, I don’t see how it advances the cause of women politically.
“In fact, if anything, I think it’s a return to the 1990s gender polarisation represented by things like Loaded, Girl Power and Men Behaving Badly. I found myself thinking: why am I reading this when I could be reading The Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf, Different for Girls by Joan Smith or Delusions of Gender by Cordelia Fine? Or even re-reading The Female Eunuch by Germaine Greer.”
And that’s when he does it. He turns around to me and – in a really patronising way – goes, “Germaine Greer is the mother of modern feminism, Ross,” like I’ve never heard of her?
I’m there, “Yeah, I know who she is. She was in Celebrity Big Brother?,” which everyone in the room seems to find hilarious for whatever reason.
“And on that note,” he goes, “I’m going to make tracks. I’ve got to be up early in the morning. I’ve got training.”
You can imagine me when I hear that word. Brings out the instant alpha in me. I’m there, “What are you supposedly training for?” He goes, “Oh, one of these white-collar boxing nights that have suddenly become huge.
“Although I’m still looking for an opponent.” I straight away go, “I’ll fight you.” Sorcha’s like, “Ross!” Except Gary’s there, “Really?” happy to take up the challenge.
I go, “Big time. I’d love three rounds with you and that smug face of yours.”
Sorcha’s like, “Ross!” except Gary just laughs. He goes, “Okay, it’s a deal,” and we end up, like, shaking on it?
He’s a scrawny little dude as well – there’s more meat on vegan buffet – and Sorcha obviously fears for the dude’s welfare, because she goes, “Gary, have you ever boxed before?”
And you can imagine my reaction, I’m sure, when he turns around and goes, “Yeah, I was a three-times European intervarsity champion when I was in Trinity.”