Rory Gibson: Proof men are scared of women

A recent episode at a bar has illustrated perfectly something that is not always apparent to the wider populace … men are terrified of women. Rory Gibson looks into why. HAVE YOUR SAY

Men are terrified of women.

I was standing at the bar having just ordered a beer when the bloke behind me tapped me on the shoulder. “Mate, is your name Cory?”

He had a haunted look and was in a state of mild panic, the cause of which was not immediately apparent.

“No, it’s Rory,” I replied, and he relaxed immediately, rewarding himself with a sheepish chuckle.

As it happens his name was Cory, and he went on to explain his skittishness.

“I thought the woman over at that table was calling out to me. I don’t know who she is and my missus is just out there in the beer garden.”

“That woman” he was referring to was with me, and she was calling my name to attract my

attention in order to secure another glass of wine, having only seconds before declined my offer to furnish her with one.

Poor old Cory crapped his pants thinking a woman he didn’t recognise was trying to connect with him in a public place while his wife lurked outside.

This episode illustrates perfectly something that is not always apparent to the wider populace … men are terrified of women.

It’s because most of the time we never know what we’ve done to attract their ire, so we just

assume we’ve done something wrong.

Decades of living with this fear makes a man twitchy

Cory was triggered by what he thought was a woman demanding his attention across a crowded pub. I’m sure he’d led an exemplary life all week and was looking forward to a couple of soothing bevies, but that sound can make the most pious man quake with doubt.

To be fair, there is a scenario that needs to be considered, and that is that Cory had actually done something wrong and was fearful of discovery.

He mentioned his wife was outside in the beer garden in a tone that indicated that if she were to become aware of the presence of another woman in the pub calling out his name, things could go pear-shaped.

His mind had frantically searching its recesses in a bid to identify the third party. Perhaps a long-forgotten former lover, or the subject of a flirtatious encounter at his mate’s buck’s night which got messy?

In the end, there was relief all round. Cory remained unscathed and my friend got her schooner of tap-poured sauvignon blanc.

I’ll probably get into trouble for revealing that.