It´s not the feminist message — it’s the messanger

I have reached the age where my hormones no longer have the majority vote. I can smell trouble, arguments and hostility. Occasionally I am the problem because it seems that making any comment can lead to an opposing view.

I was watching a lioness chase down a smaller antelope.\on the TV. This took place in a store with many TVs showing the same event. I made a comment to myself, “Report that as unfair.”  I swear that was all I said.

A woman behind me said, “I suppose you think that was acceptable.”

I looked about for a hidden camera and saw the seething eyes of a woman who looked as angry as her tone. I said,”Excuse me” already I said too much.

She was a rather attractive woman with a loud sharp tone and for a second I thought she was going to charge me. Mind you, I am a big guy.

“You guys think that hurting a defenseless animal is the way to live,” she said.

I looked at her, then the TV, and like in the movie TERMINATOR all these bad words came across my speech screen, but being a controlled individual I smiled and said, “Ín case you didn´t know, that was the female lion who was taking down food for her family.”

At that point I felt like the rediscovered unicorn (a male with feelings)

To my surprise her face softened, she grinned with confusion and said, “No shit! All these times I saw that as more male aggression.”

“Are you angry with men?” I was back in my comfort zone having discovered that her bark was worse than her bite.

“Men are jerks, you gotta a problem with that?” she asked angling to put me back on the defensive. Briefly, very briefly, she flashed a grin.

“Are you a feminist?” I asked.

“You wish, they are worse than the men”, she said.

“See we have some views in common.”  I extended my hand and introduced myself.  She appeared shocked; smiled a lovely smile and gave me her name.

“Don´t think I am letting your perceived male superiority get the better of me,” she said.

“Wouldn´t think of it,”  I said still looking for a hidden camera. No, she was real.

“So how long have you oppressed women?” she asked. I believed she was asking for my age.

“I just now am considering it,”  I said with a straight face. She repressed a chuckle.

“You´re probably Catholic and have been taught to dominate women,”  she said as if this were an interview.

“Oh! you haven´t heard,  just yesterday the Pope has made it official,, that priests can now go out with nuns,” I said.

She paused and cocked her head and said, “You are just full of information. First the lion now the priest. So is it true?” she asked.

“Yeah, so long as the priest doesn´t get in the habit.”´

She had a deep raspy laugh like a woman who smokes.

Her name was Olivia Compton. I called her OC. She died 3 yeas later unexpectedly and never came to know the OC stood for overcompensating. She was a perfect match for my personality. And all her bravado could not hold back her feminine instincts to be a loving and caring wife.