MAN, THE PRUDE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17829, 24 April 1926, Page 4

MAN, THE PRUDE.

“Now what,” said Tom, “do you call those?” I looked down at my legs complacently. “Rather nice, aren’t they? The very latest silk stockings.” Tom snorted. “What I want to know about you girls to-day is: ‘How much more are you going to show?’ You wear things underneath that wouldn't clothe a respectable fly, you chop your skirts off at the knees, or else slit them up in all directions. You stick your skinny arms and legs in front of a man until he thinks he’s strayed into a bone factory! Not a sleeve amongst you! You cut off your hair. You wear stekings that look as if you haven’t any on at all, and slash your shoes so that nearly the whole of your instep can be seen.” (At that point he took a long' breath.) “The only part of you that ought to be seen, you cloak under a thick layer of white stuff that gets all over your husband’s coats and ties, and strays even into his collar-box. You spend hours and hours making yourself look like some deadwhite ghost with scarlet lips, and a skirt a savage would blush to behold, and then you expect your husband to take you out, and be proud of you.” At this point I squashed him with a cushion. “That,” I said, bitterly, "is all the thanks one gets for dressing well.” Here a voice ejaculated: “Undressing well, you mean” But I took no notice. “Women spend hours and hours over , the choice of a hat or a frock, and all to please their men-folk! Why do they risk pneumonia in short skirts, low necks, and no sleeves, I ask you? Simply and solely because of Man! ” “Rubbish,” said Tom. “They dress to spite each other. You know perfectly well that when Mrs What’s-her-name bought a new fur coat, you never rested until you’d bought a better One! Don’t dare deny it!” “Well,” I said, “it’s time we started if we want to get to that dance tonight.” “Not in those stockings you don’t,” said Tom, violently. “I won’t have e.very man in the room staring at ray wife’s legs. I’ve stood much, but I will not stand this! Don’t perjure yourself by saying you do it all for me— I’m not going out with you like that, so just trot upstairs and find yourself a shawl to cover up your nakedness, and stockings I can look at without blushing.” Man, the Prude, indeed! Man the Sheik, too! I went upstairs and obeyed meekly'. After all. the dears like to think they do master us sometimes, don’t they? But I know that Tom admires Hetty Twist, who dresses far more outrageously than I am ever likely to do. Only, you see, she’s not married to him. If she were, he’d wrap her up in an eiderdown every' time she went out. It’s the harem idea, dormant in every man. dears. Passing strange, perhaps, but time!