Whoever said, ‘ogopa women’ - fear women - should patent the phrase. You see, men engage the enemy with a war cry. They raise their spears and advance into battle – dramatically, loudly.
The battle fanfare is followed by the sounds and scents of blood and gore. If you have watched the medieval thriller, Game Of Thrones, you get the idea. Us women, we engage in war in a different style. We are like the infamous Jack the Ripper. Silent but lethal, more so when we are truly angry.
When a woman becomes undone, she is beyond hurt, angry, or any other emotion. She is at her most clear, level-headed logical self.
Guys, as much as you dislike a moody, quarrelsome wife, you are better off when she still screams at you or ‘nags’ you. When she goes off the radar, when she shuts down and remains extremely polite and agreeable, she is entering the war zone. With a woman, there is no blood and gore. Instead, you get the Sahara, Antarctica, and ghost lands.
I heard the most astounding story of *Clara, which, for privacy's sake, can only be described as an apt depiction of a scorned woman’s wrath. She chose grave silence, the one our DCI officers give you during interrogation as your blubber and yadda.
She was faithful, beautiful, calm, and not drawn to quarrels or loud grumbling. She kept a clean, warm home, and did everything by the book. Then one day, seven years into the marriage, she woke up to find herself entangled in a web of deceit, which was met with a violent response when she asked what the underground had been happening while she played a good wife.
Since we mentioned Game of Thrones, you might be familiar with the evolution of Sansa. Naïve, dreamy, sweet girl whose world was soft cotton and powder scents, until life threw her into the very deep end. Then, she emerged, reborn, a powerful, albeit deadly woman who took no punches.
My grandmother once told me that women love easily, trust fast, and place great faith in their husbands.
See, we carry life, we nurture it and we adore family. That is our wiring. But then, at some point, we get consistently hurt, we get stunned, then we get livid.
And we get done. Or undone. Like Clara. Or Sansa.
The other lot of us do the same, for a time, but one day, something snaps when we look in the mirror and can no longer recognise the joyless image gazing back at us. Guys, it is not good for man to be alone. Do not push her to undone.
