Women are mysterious beings-i mean,some of the women are,that is.

What this means is not that I understand women more than the next guy, but that I have honed the skill of my observations about women.

I think I can be quite objective about women,’cause,well,I’m not very much attached to women by disposition,except when I’m observing them from a safe distance.

And I also know that writing about women is not quite like writing about men.

Women are indeed more ardent
readers, and perhaps more faithful readers, but also women read with more diligence, they read with
more purpose and thirst for intricate interpretation of the subject under discussion.

Women pick nuances and they have the most uncanny recall power.

They tend to read with a fine tooth comb.

They are into minutiae.

And they read between the lines.

Women are excellent with feedback; they write back to say they loved or hated a story.

Men? Too proud, but if they meet you in a bar they will say they liked/hated
something you wrote.

Then they will buy you a beer.

You would imagine that after all this time writing about women, I would understand women,but I don’t.

Women, to me, still remain a mystery,like a baffling and ominous
blot in an X-ray chart to a layman.

Isn’t that exasperating?

Not to me. There is beauty in writing about something you don’t quite understand. it’s about chutzpah.

I live with two women, (well, one is a mini-woman,an adored daughter from a different relationship from a long time ago!)and being the only man in my house doesn’t make my life any easier, and it certainly doesn’t make me more adept to understanding women.

But I’m better than the next guy because I can always see an
impending storm, and avert it…by fleeing from the charged and potentially explosive scene for a boys’ day out.

I can also deal with my women’s moods slightly better- but only because I have to.

And I can deal with coded talk ; long before men figured that when a woman says “it’s okay, don’t buy me anything for my birthday, I don’t find
birthdays a big deal,” was a trap, I was already ahead.

But to write for women, and to write about women, you got to love women.


You got to be very curious about women; emotionally, physically and
even spiritually.

To be attuned to women, you’ve got to listen to them, even if half of what they might be banging on about doesn’t make sense, or is a repetition from the previous week,or even the previous year. To them,everything is currently relevant,from things that they did as toddlers,to the wrongs you did yesterday. Just about everything is relevant,especially the wrongs.

I, unfortunately,don’t have that skill to listen raptly for more than a few seconds; my main handicap is
my threshold for attention; I get bored very easily.

I drift.

But from the few things I pick, I try to construct rationale around it.

It’s in my best interest to look like I’m really listening and understanding every nuance,innuedo and such like things that women use as a form of communication to their men.

And so, when one of my women readers here suggested that I write about women, like I did about men here sometime back(see ‘The art of being a man’), I thought “why the hell not?

Sticking my foot in my mouth about issues that I don’t quite understand is my favourite pastime after all.

So here we go, to the eternal question…who is a woman?

A woman knows her man.

Most women don’t know their men.

Sure they know what dish they like,
or what colour of shirt they prefer, or what gets them really worked up, but they really don’t know who their men are.

A woman can date a man for three years, maybe even live with him under the same roof, and yet one day
the man does something so “out of character”,something that elicits a typical female response,“that was so unlike Ben to do that!”

It’s laughable because actually that was Ben. The real Ben that women would rather not see,because they have the ideal of who he should be imprinted deeply in their minds.

The greatest tragedy is that women see their men in their own image.

So yes, a woman should know her man and if she doesn’t she tries to know him…without following him

A woman doesn’t lick a can of Redds sherry, or her liquor bottle.

It’s tacky.

A woman knows how to keep down her alcohol.

A woman doesn’t think drinking like a fish makes her cool, that partying constantly makes her urbane and suave.

And that’s why the world is full of
chicks, and not women.

A woman is inherently moody.

It’s her hallmark.

Her moods changes without warning.

A woman also knows that she isn’t defined by her career, that not any amount of academic degrees will validate her.

A true woman gets her degrees to serve her intellectual curiosity and nothing else.

It’s okay if a woman didn’t know how to cook,but she has to want
to learn.

A woman doesn’t let her girlfriends run her relationship.

A woman knows that cleanliness is next to godliness and so a woman who looks like a mechanic in downtown Grogon open car-garage in Nairobi is half a woman;inexcusable.

A woman cries, mostly without solid
reason, but sometimes with reason.

But a woman who cries soon after love making is a keeper.

I repeat, a woman who…OK, you get the idea.

A female who sees a suffering child and feels pain in her chest is a woman.

A woman who has been failed by her womb is also a woman, perhaps even more of a woman than the one with children, because she carries an ugly pain, the need and guilt unbearable to man.

A woman doesn’t poke strangers on Facebook.

A woman doesn’t steal; an idea, a concept or money.

But she can steal another woman’s man.

And why the hell not?

A woman who has her man stolen from her had no business being with that man in the first place.

She didn’t own him.

You gotta own your men ladies! (This last part is best delivered while
thumping a holy grail book on relationships!)

A woman is jealous.

A woman is kind and tender.

A woman is vindictive and calculating.

A woman is craftier than a man, sneakier than a man even.

In every woman lies astounding but well intended evil.

A woman doesn’t dance to the song ‘bend over’, that’s for girls.

A woman sometimes buys a man a drink.

Oh hell, who am I kidding, not in this city!

A woman knows at least
five love songs; if she knows less, then she is a pretender to the throne.

A woman doesn’t talk with food in her mouth like most men do.

And she doesn’t pick her teeth in public.

A woman doesn’t belch. Okay, not loudly.

Sometimes a woman has to ‘fake it’
because men live on a staple diet of vanity about “some skills”,and she has to bolster their vain ego.

A woman respects herself, and if she dare ask how, then an explanation on how she should go about it wouldn’t do her any good.

A woman sits with her legs crossed.

A true woman doesn’t need to “be a man,” unless her womanhood is

A woman doesn’t wear Safari boots shoes, unless she’s a painter or she is an apprentice deejay at some

A woman is not defined by the size of her boobs or the size of her butt.

But! It would be nice if
she had butt on her because, come on, to a man,butt is king…I’m just saying.

A woman preserves her dignity by not sleeping around.

A woman prays because a prayer from a woman is a powerful prayer.

Plus, I secretly suspect God favours women.

A woman is a lousy driver, even
the once who think they are great drivers.

A woman shops and spends money she doesn’t have.

Sometimes a woman- especially the hot ones like Eva Longoria,or Elin Nordegren of Tiger woods – is cheated on .

It’s never a reflection on the kind of girlfriend/wife/mother/fiancé
you are; it’s an inexplicable reflection of manhood flaws.

A pompous woman who is obsessed with her beauty is never worth any man’s time.

A woman takes pride in how she looks, which is to say a woman with a forest in her armpit and dirt under her nails is a woman who can’t take care of her man because she obviously can’t take care of herself.

A woman who dates for money is a soft gold digger, but then
again a gold digger is a gold digger. Period!

A woman tells her man to straighten up his act if he slips.

That’s a woman to respect.

A woman isn’t scared to be judged, not if she knows who she is.

A woman has to have a plan. Any plan.

A woman knows when to walk out.

A woman has a bar which she has to be treated, if she compromises this bar once by lowering it, then she changes the composition of her relationship.

A woman never stays with a man who beats her up.

Or a man she beats up.

A woman doesn’t sleep in a tired baggy tee-shirt for chrissake!

A woman, even a broke one, takes
pride in her dignity, because that shines brighter than a 45carat diamond.

A woman holds her man’s hand
because men – even though they may deny it – need a lot of active guidance.

A woman observes oral hygiene.

A woman cares for her mother.

She holds the family together.

A woman doesn’t compete with her man, because she will surely lose, because men were cut for
brinkmanship, it arouses them.

A woman who says,“I don’t know what happened, I swear I normally
don’t do this,” is a liar.

A woman watches her decibels when laughing, unless the joke is really

A woman doesn’t pick her nose,like most men do.

A woman says “fine” when it’s not.

A woman waits a whole week to watch the wedding show on TV,even when she is already happily married.

A woman doesn’t eat like a man.

A woman doesn’t constantly get on Facebook and profess undying love on her boyfriend’s wall; it’s insecure, exhibitionist and childish.

Let girls do that.

A woman will read this, and see the ugly head of chauvinism bobbing just beneath the surface, and she will smile wearily at all the mess I’m making about this mysterious subject.

A true woman loves to get ‘hot’…with a man.

But if she prefers it with other women, then she’s not a woman, but our boy.

A woman loves sand between her toes and the sun in her face.

A woman should never be embarrassed by her sexuality.

A woman doesn’t need to know how to milk a cow,or change a flat tyre,and even if she knows,she pretends not to,in presence of a man.

A woman doesn’t whistle.

A woman never tells the exact number of men she has slept with, but if she is crazy enough as to do so, we will add twenty five more guys on top to get the exact number.

A woman loves herself first, before she can let a man love her.

Never the other way round, because
the hardest woman to love, is one who doesn’t love herself.

A woman gossips. It is her staple food. A woman who doesn’t gossip is a psycho!

A woman, just like a man,is imperfect, and isn’t all together shocked or derailed by it.

A woman doesn’t seek a perfect man, but if she really has to, then she buys a Daniel Steele romantic paper backs where such perfect men can be found,and spends the rest of her life fantasising about them.

A woman shouldn’t judge all that is me, just from skimming through this article (hehehe).

A woman who likes making love in pitch darkness has deeper running issues than she knows.

A woman learns to appreciate her body (even if it looks like a stuffed doll) but if she can’t, then she joins a gym, damn it!, and she works hard on it!

A woman listens.

A woman can sooth, to silence, a wailing baby.

A woman is a decision maker, because women’s intuition is supreme.

A woman fears rats and bats and insects and caterpillars.

A woman takes not less than three days to reverse a car correctly into a
parking lot.

A woman never, and I mean never, pays rent for a man, and if she does then she’d rather call him Jackline, not Jack.

A woman hides her man’s “nakedness” in public, she protects him.

A woman should smell good…not necessarily expensive, but
good, because there are women who wear expensive perfume but still smell cheap.

A woman can smoke if she wants to, it’s her lungs after all, and hell,let’s admit it, some women make smoking so damned sexy, like Christina Hendricks in the television series, ‘MadMen’.

Talking of which, a woman loves Brad Pritt, because he is what most of us men aren’t.

A woman has to read secrets,including going through your wallet,phone messages,and when she fails on all this,she tries to pry them right out of your mind when you are drunk.

A woman prays, eats, and loves.

“You are the best I ever had,” only a woman will tell you that, but that’s not even the sad part.

The sad part is that you will believe it.

And lastly, a woman isn’t afraid of hitting her thirties, because it’s
in her thirties that she really begins to understand and enjoy her womanhood.

That’s my twisted take on women.

What’s yours?

Just some random thoughts that came to my mind….©Profarms’ Random Thoughts®