The Art of being irrational

Women just don’t make a lot of sense

If you’re a regular reader of this column, then you’ll know I try to avoid sweeping generalisations and I’m a fan of equality.

Whenever I investigate a skill on your behalf I do it with closed eyes and an open mind and I cater my advice for the consideration of both sexes. But with being irrational, in a very similar way to “The Art of Giving Birth”, I can’t help but conclude that it’s an activity in which women particularly excel and men just can’t compete.

As with remembering the previous wrong-doings of a partner and enthusiastically listing them, with this skill there’s somethig a woman’s make up which means she’s just really good at it.

If you are a female, and a very lovely one at that, I imagine you’re about to completely lose it and throw the Chron in the bin, without even having five minutes on the births and deaths section, in an irrational fit of rage at a handsome and charismatic young philosopher, which really only goes to prove my point.

Whether it’s flying off the handle if they have to put the toilet seat down, buying a really expensive dress that they know they won’t get into or, and I’m told this one is popular, having a bit of a “thing” for Peter Andre, it’s the prettier half of the our species who really set the benchmark. There are some examples of men behaving irrationally but they tend to involve beer and the whiff of freedom. Sober irrationality is what we’re focusing on.

Being rational is a lot less interesting though. It means you think your actions through logically and employ reason when making decisions. You’re not easily angered or upset or hysterical and you almost certainly wouldn’t properly appreciate the film “Dirty Dancing” like the irrational do.

“Nobody puts baby in a corner,” is a nice line but thinking rationally, would you really say that to the father of a girl you’re trying to get off with?

Irrational fears are a little more evenly spread and can affect anyone at any time, even people as well-grounded as me. Any parent is struck dumb by them regularly, worrying that their toddler will get abducted or their teenager pregnant, or that their fully grown-up child has no intention of ever paying back that money they lent them.

For some reason I have a strange recurring irrational fear when I’m in a toilet cubicle and I hear someone enter the room. It sounds ridiculous but I panic that I may be in the ladies. I wrack my brains to remember if I noticed any urinals on the way in but as I can’t be sure, I remain seated until the coast is clear.

It’s silly really because more often than not, it turns out I am in the men’s.

Next week: The art of using a vending machine.