"Are you sure you want to finish that bottle of red? You know what they say."
She finished pouring. She had gone out for dinner then drinks with seven other colleagues. Six of them were male. "What? That I will be gang raped?"
The liquor that had urged her colleague to make vague innuendos over her glass now stuttered to find a response to this less vague accusation. "No! Of course not. I would never mean that." The flush on his face seemed not only to be from the alcohol.
"What do they say?"
"In the part of the world I come from, they say that any woman in a group who finishes a bottle of red will be the next to become pregnant."
"I see." That was a perfectly logical and apt subject to bring up at a social dinner at a conference. "Then tell me, why have you only ever let your wife finish one bottle of red wine?"
***
I do not know the woman in question. I know the man well. He works down the hall from my partner. His (only) son is in the same room at the university nursery as Epsilon. The above conversation is embellished by me from my partner's recollection of a night of tapas and wine where the group of eight had consumed a horrifying number of bottles of alcohol.
My respect for the unknown woman's quick wittedness is immense. In the time that has passed since I heard this story, my respect for my partner's colleague has plummeted. My opinion of him poisoned, I now see cracks in his persona that may be indications of deeper sexism. We keep our conversations about the kids.
She finished pouring. She had gone out for dinner then drinks with seven other colleagues. Six of them were male. "What? That I will be gang raped?"
The liquor that had urged her colleague to make vague innuendos over her glass now stuttered to find a response to this less vague accusation. "No! Of course not. I would never mean that." The flush on his face seemed not only to be from the alcohol.
"What do they say?"
"In the part of the world I come from, they say that any woman in a group who finishes a bottle of red will be the next to become pregnant."
"I see." That was a perfectly logical and apt subject to bring up at a social dinner at a conference. "Then tell me, why have you only ever let your wife finish one bottle of red wine?"
***
I do not know the woman in question. I know the man well. He works down the hall from my partner. His (only) son is in the same room at the university nursery as Epsilon. The above conversation is embellished by me from my partner's recollection of a night of tapas and wine where the group of eight had consumed a horrifying number of bottles of alcohol.
My respect for the unknown woman's quick wittedness is immense. In the time that has passed since I heard this story, my respect for my partner's colleague has plummeted. My opinion of him poisoned, I now see cracks in his persona that may be indications of deeper sexism. We keep our conversations about the kids.
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