A Parisian Policeman.

A Parisian policeman.


The most awe inspiring part of a woman is her brain. The multi tasking capabilities of the female is well known. Many professors are spending their entire lives studying this phenomenon trying to figure this out. Are there genetic codes or markers there?   The male on the other hand has trouble just doing a single task, and of course always expects great admiration and respect to follow. The question is how this multi tasking of females came about. Is it learned or gene related.  Mothers with one on breast and another on hip (babies, not husband) can do cooking, cleaning, talking and write a thesis on 17th century Latvian ceramics all at the same time.

The female does multi task. The male with prompting can do serial tasking at best. He does one thing at a time. He changes his underwear one day; next day puts it on top of laundry basket and with luck on the third day or week after, might put his underwear actually into the basket.

During the long and bitter winters here in the Southern Highlands, well above 800 metres, one of the many single tasks that falls on my shoulders is the lighting of a single cube of fire lighter. Most nights our 2 fires are still alive next morning and just need topping up with wood. If lingering in the warm bed takes long the risk is that a fire has to be started from scratch with a fire lighter starter.

This takes a male’s full concentration, and stillness is required now, no talking or interruption. The striking of the match first, then slowly approach the cube which is carefully underneath some kindling. Will the match die out or stay alive?  The success of a positive day is now in the balance. If the fire starts, all is fine, if not, it might require an accusation to others that it is just not possible to do so many things at once. It will pale the morning.

In Norway, the proven multi tasking capabilities of women is cleverly exploited and by 2010 forty percent of company management must be women. If this is not done, companies will be closed down and all men sacked.

 There is one thing that man is superior in. Map reading. Not even Norwegian women can read maps. I suspect that maps are hieroglyphics to most women. Even the concept of North and South are mysterious entities, steeped with bearded explorers and arctic frosts. What is the genetic marker for that failure?

 The male map reading genetic marker has been bedded down. This is a man’s speciality and the one thing standing between male self esteem and total annihilation. Keep this in mind fellows. Use it. It is not much, but hey, it is better than standing on a Norwegian street corner during winter after being kicked out of the warm office by a multi tasking female work force.

Years ago, I converted a VW Kombi into a sleeper/camper with the audacious use of self tappers and window curtains together with short wooden legs hinged to chip board for a ¾ bed. We left our kids behind on the streets and decided to go to France. We headed first for Paris. After visits to Seine bridges, and Musee Du Louvre, Left Bank and Montmartre we ended up at the Champs D’elysees and right in the middle of this wide Avenue decided to set up camp on the ‘troittoir’. We thought it strange that no one else was parked there but next morning, much to our relief, there were many others busy with putting on trousers and blouses. No doubt, many wrapping up the fruits of true love as well.

We planned to have a breakfast of croissants and coffee after which a tour of the Loire Valley with Chateaux was in mind.  This is where the inferior map reading by females became obvious.

 Ecouter svp!

 Getting out of Paris is almost impossible. This is why many give up and remain there forever. We ended up at a huge round-about with a bronzed statue of a large man on a large horse in the middle. We circled round and round this horse statue like a shark around a cadaver. Finally, stopped to ask a ‘gendarme’ how to get away from this endless round-about with the big horse. He not only kindly directed us but gave a special map on how to get off this round-about and towards the Loire Valley with its promise of vin blanc and chateaux.

 We did manage to get away, but it was only temporarily, a huge detour, and back on the same  round- about circle, no escape; we seemed destined to just keep on rounding and rounding. We were starting to wonder if all roads in Paris always ended up at this same round-about. Was it a fiendish plot to get at English speaking tourists and McDonalds and future Starbucks?

 I was getting frustrated but decided to stop and ask police again for directions. Would you believe it, the same policeman? This time he pencilled directions on the map. Again, stoically we drove off. Another fifty kilometres, and through banlieues and Algeria, the horse statue again. I was sobbing now, close to being catatonic and pleading with Helvi to direct me from map. Half an hour, looked out and saw this fucking horse and the same policeman. He was laughing and pointing at my Kombi.

I then glanced sideways. Helvi had the map upside down.

 Remember now men. We are good at map reading.

7 Responses to “A Parisian Policeman.”

  1. declutteringmylifeweb Says:

    It is said that women are good at multi-tasking. Actually war or business strategies conducted by men also require multi-tasking and the combination of numerous factors and the management of crowds, don’t they.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. berlioz1935 Says:

    You wrote, “professors are studying this phenomenon trying to figure this out.” I don’t know when you wrote this piece, but the problem has been solved long ago. You hinted at it by describing a woman with two babies. Women used to have to look after several children at the same time. Once a baby crawled out of the cave it could be a goner. A hungry bear or a starving sabretooth tiger could have eaten said baby just for breakfast.

    Our male forefathers in the meantime were hunting and by doing this they were concentrating on one thing and one thing only, the hunted animal. Sure, by running after the deer or a mammoth they could get lost. Oh no, they always knew were north or south was.

    There is one thing though that will distract a man from a given task that is when a woman comes into his field of vision. Looking at this female is more important than his survival instinct. Driving a car could be the last thing he ever did.

    So be proud to be a man, you can’t get lost. As your story proves, you only get lost when you put a woman in charge of the map. For them, it is confusing that on all maps North is at the top even if you go South.

    ps. My wife is an excellent map reader!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. gerard oosterman Says:

    That piece is a few years old. Strange that it doesn’t show a date. I think it might have been written around 2005 or so.
    We had a great time in Paris.

    I am sure the sexes might be more and better balanced, but with all the different sexes popping up lately, am not sure if this balance is making things any simpler.

    Anyway, we will just make the best of it all, Berlioz.

    Liked by 2 people

    • berlioz1935 Says:

      We are at a stage, in Australian politics that is, where the wishes of the Homosexuals to get married might unravel the Australian government. Turnbull seems to have lost his compass completely. Perhaps Lucy could point him in the right direction.


  4. freefall852 Says:

    Enjoyable read, Gerard…May I add my own experience and theory to the piece..alongside “berloiz1935″?…

    A snappy, middle of the range whipper snipper is the latest addition to our weed-control tool kit. I gave it a test run last week and found it quite satisfactory. , a few nights later, the good Lady turned to me whilst we were watching “Midsomer Murders” and “instructed” me that she would like me to show her how to use the whipper snipper so she could do some jobs unaided by yours t’…

    Well, she didn’t say it like that..she spoke in that ‘I Am Woman Hear Me Roar’ voice that demands attention from a spouse or else!..you blokes will know what I mean…AND more power to them!…more power I say..I am the last male to deny woman their independence from the patriarchal stranglehold!…But I have to admit, when she first voiced that desire, those two most instructive words of the male “ incoming! incoming! ; warning!” radar rang out : “Uh Oh!”…because, you see…some of these machines are of a curious “male operatives only” design..and just as the complex intricacies of birthing and managing the species has been trusted by an astute “Mother Nature” to the most patient and persevering of the species , the operation and maintenance of many machines is best suited to the male of that same species..and why not?..we males are expendable…and besides. It would take at least two species evolutionary cycles for either of us to change roles.

    But!…Today, I took her to the ‘round yard’ and gave her the run-down on the machine. I showed her the pump button to prime the carby, I showed her the positions of choke settings to start and run the engine, I demonstrated the pull-cord start , I pointed to the cutting-cord and talked about the mechanism for lengthening the cord after it wears short etc , etc…I gave her several “you try..now I’ll show”..turns..stood back and only corrected when I saw an obvious thing that would assist her..then, as any instructor will attest, “experience is the best teacher”, I walked away…with the howling –full-throttled engine expecting it to blow-up in the next half hour…Sometimes you just gotta walk away and be prepared to cop-it-sweet.

    It’s amazing how durable those little motors are..

    She finished what she wanted to do, returned the whipper snipper to it’s place and I asked her how it went..
    “Oh..not bad..but it got a bit blunt toward the end”.

    “Blunt?” I inquired, somewhat amazed “The cord doesn’t get blunt, but it does get short..did you do that action I showed you ?”…I went and looked at the cutting cord as I spoke..sure enough, there wasn’t any.

    “Oh..there’s no cord left “

    “I know, but I didn’t know what that orange cord did”

    “It does the cutting” I gently replied (You have to reply gently in these situations or you don’t get any food later….every husband knows this).

    “I thought it had blades” she looked at me in wide eyed innocence and I fell in love all over again!
    You see, I’ve had experience with these situations before…I remember my first marriage, where one day I went to hang my washing out (see?..I know what independence means) and I saw the laundry trolley had lost two wheels off one axel.
    “Where’s the wheels from the laundry trolley ?” I innocently enquired, to which she, with equal wide-eyed inoffensiveness replied..:

    “ What … ?”

    But, no…I will not state what most males will be able to guess with the inordinate accuracy of their own experience.

    I will go now to the meadow and attend to the horses…you may come too!


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