“Come to this party,” I texted a friend last week. “There will be men there.”
This rallying cry – one that carries the promise of romantic intrigue – is one I find myself invoking frequently and unthinkingly nowadays. Going to the pub? Might be men there. Perhaps I should put on a better slobby jumper for the two-minute trek to the shop, in case there are men there. Sitting in a GP’s waiting room – men? There? For me?
