On ladies, women, girls and females.

I love women. I practically worship them. Still do, though less overtly since my wife sates my fulminating desires. When I turned twelve (or thereabouts), I discovered that boys and girls are complementary. Neither of them is complete without the other. I don’t mean as people, but as complex organisms that together form a whole, a higher level of existence. Rather like atoms and molecules. They’re OK on their own, but as compound elements they are more distinct. Also oodles more fun.

And then came my shock!

I don’t have much time to watch TV, but after the News, I flip the channels, on the off chance that I might spot something worthwhile. And this is how I found Tara. Or Tyra? Something like that. She’s tall, blond, brunet and redhead (yes, apparently in the same program). I saw her, quite by accident, parading a number of generously endowed females (in my younger days they used to be called girls, women or ladies), displaying their voluptuous wares. I settled back to feast my eyes on my favorite objects of worship. No, this was not the shock. This was delight. The shock came when the camera turned to face the audience.

Gawking at the scantily clad women (sorry, females) parading the stage in 4" heels was an audience consisting exclusively of other women. Girls? I should have guessed since, as the presentation of models had been accompanied by shrill screams reminiscent of a herd of banshees in heat. I have no idea why they, the audience, screamed. Must have been some sort of secret language known only to the female-kind. And anyway, why would women look, with such avid gaping, unadulterated interest at other women? And why would they emit from their throats those ugly, ear-splitting shrieks? In my younger days boys/men gawked at girls/women, whereas women would gaze at men, from under their curved eyelashes. Well, the long eyelashes are still there... What happened?

I flipped channels. There were two more programs displaying women on the stage, the audience again filled with screaming banshees of the female persuasion. Where are the women I love? What happened to them? Whatever happened to the silky, smooth, demure, beauties from who I heard, surely not to long ago, sounds uttered in soft, enticing whispers that stirred my blood?

I wonder if there were other TV programs where men, or should I say ‘males’, stare and scream at other men parading, preferably in a state of extended undress and a padded crotch, to sate their incomprehensive (at least to me) desires, to act like wild animals? I don’t know. And, to tell you the truth, I don’t really want to know. I love women too much