Why Women Don't Hate Me

Today's Twitter storm has been over an article in the Daily Mail by the uber-confident Samantha Brick.  Many people thought it must have been a submission for a column on Sunday (April Fool) that had been bumped, due to space but her previous columns suggest otherwise.  The article was titled,  "There are downsides to looking this pretty: Why women hate me because I'm beautiful."

The terrifying thing about this piece is that she looks a bit like me.

She claims that she gets sent bottles of champagne from the captain of aircraft she travels on, men rush up to her in the street and give her flowers, a man at the railway station paid for her railway ticket and women are forever fearful that their husbands will fall madly in love with her.  Because of this, women, apparently hate her.

It may be possible that women hate her (although looking at Twitter, it seems as though men hate her and women can barely be bothered to comment) because she is a fantasist.  She may have watched an Impulse advert and thought that it was her that the men were giving flowers to.

Men Just Can't Help Acting on Impulse

Despite looking quite like Samantha Brick, no man has ever rushed up and given me flowers, although if they tried I would run in the other direction very fast. Men have tried to give me other kind of plants but you should never accept a courgette from a man, especially when you have grown a glut of them yourself.

I've watched the films where a man sends over the bottle of Champagne to the attractive woman at the other table.  Wouldn't it be lovely to live in a world where  we dressed for dinner, called each other darrrling, tipped the hat check girl and weren't suspicious that the champagne bottle had been spiked with Rohypnol?  Last week I walked into a pub and a handsome man stood up and said, "Sit down, I'll get your drink." It's because I'm so attractive, I know but what was my reply?  "Sit down, Dad, I can get my own drink, I'm a grown up now you know!"

Would you let a stranger buy your train ticket?  I don't even like the person behind me at the train station knowing where my ticket it to.

Women don't hate me.  I'm not attractive (even if I look a bit like Samantha Brick).  It's because sometimes I have dirt under my fingernails, I'm happy to pay my own way, I can grow my own courgettes (or flowers if I choose), I eat chocolate, I don't get self righteous about the fact I go to the gym 'even when I don't want to' (probably because I don't!),  I don't think other women are out to get me because I am about to steal their husbands.

Or maybe I have all this wrong and I am the most loathed woman in the country.  (Samantha Brick lives in France)