Hello, my name is Doris and I'd like to make a complaint.

The first time I noticed Pete's breathing problem I was sitting in the passenger seat of his V8 automatic Hilux ute.  Four normal quiet breaths followed by one long deep breath. In then out, whistling through that deviated septum. The cycle repeated itself over and over again as he leaned forward driving, as he did, his right arm wrapped over the top of the steering wheel. Fucking ignore it I told myself.  I'd had a lot of lectures during my 6 years of dating: "You're too picky Doris!" "Not all men..." "Why do you even bother?"  Maybe I could put up with it?  Pete hadn't done well for himself since his split from his wife some 10 years earlier. His need to purchase a roaring ute for the short drive to work each day had beaten the need to own a home. As a result, at 50yrs of age, he was renting a small, rather depressing 2 bedroom unit. He'd entered a relationship shortly after splitting with his wife and when that had ended two years...

I was chatting to a friend the other day about her sister and her sister's new boyfriend. Cassy, (my friend's sister) is in her early 50s, very conservative and twice divorced. Cassy's been uncertain about her future for months as she's navigated life as a single woman in the aftermath of her second marriage. I met Cassy once but didn't really like her. I thought her values were all fucked up, and I thought it a little weird that her soft-top red sports car was the antithesis of her boring personality. I got the feeling I annoyed her too. I found it cringe-worthy that Cassy had managed to stay good friends with both of her much older ex-spouses, making pacts with each that that they would look after each other as they got old. Each ex-husband still came over to visit unannounced whenever they pleased. "We're just great friends." "We're not all bitter like you Doris" # she explained when I questioned her about her right to privacy and her...

I've been pleasantly amused by the media frenzy surrounding the Ashley Madison married dating website hack. Apparently 33 million user accounts leaked - 32, 999, 980 male accounts, and 20 filthy female whores who used the married dating website to lure faithful men away from their loving wives. The media has focused almost exclusively on the women who have had to deal with the fallout. Stories of shocked wives and their now repentant husbands. Addiction counselling. Separation. Apparently even suicide. One local radio station asked women to call in if they suspected their partner of cheating. Really?!  I listened as one poor dove of a woman was called up and the bad news broken to her: "Hi Jan, sorry to tell you this, but your husband's email address is on the list…" At first silence. Then "That's disgusting!" Her next response? You'll never guess. She berated the previous caller, a single woman who used AM for casual sex. As Jan said, ...

My most recent email of complaint to a catholic school (and so it goes on…and on…and on): Dear Father XXXX, I would like to express my concern about a conversation Mr XXXX had with year 11  XXXX  boys last week regarding what he believed to be appropriate dress code for the female partners of boys attending the upcoming semi-formal. The boys were instructed that should their date be dressed inappropriately, then she would be asked to wear the college shirt for the night. I would like to understand Mr XXXX’s definition of “inappropriate.” I have grave concerns with what seems to be an obsession, almost exclusively reserved for Catholic schools, with the dress code of women attending semi-formals and formals.  This obsession does not seem to be based on previous experience of women attending these events “inappropriately” attired, yet this same talk is given to both boys and girls in year 11 and 12 year after year.  I have never heard of an...

"Maybe I couldn’t make it. Maybe I don’t have a pretty smile, good teeth, nice tits, long legs, a cheeky arse, a sexy voice. Maybe I don’t know how to handle men and increase my market value, so that the rewards due to the feminine will accrue to me. Then again, maybe I’m sick of the masquerade. I’m sick of pretending eternal youth. I’m sick of belying my own intelligence, my own will, my own sex. I’m sick of peering at the world through false eyelashes, so everything I see is mixed with a shadow of bought hairs; I’m sick of weighting my head with a dead mane, unable to move my neck freely, terrified of rain, of wind, of dancing too vigorously in case I sweat into my lacquered curls. I’m sick of the Powder Room. I’m sick of pretending that some fatuous male’s self-important pronouncements are the objects of my undivided attention, I’m sick of going to films and plays when someone else wants to, and sick of having no opinions of my own about either. I’m sick of being a transvest...

Women dislike men because they are: inconsiderate  rude  egotistical thoughtless shallow aggressive  boring unsympathetic  lazy self-absorbed controlling cruel unhygienic simple dependent sexist  poorly groomed  badly dressed  embarrassing infantile Men dislike women because:  we occasionally  point  this  out  to  them 

Attention gentlemen!  I'm house-trained and fully domesticated! I'm looking for an attractive, young-at-heart, sexy, fun-loving, determined, unique, curious, creative, adventurous, intelligent, compassionate, authentic, sensual, masculine, playful, loyal, trustworthy, honest, confident, cheeky, strong, successful, financially secure man to share good times and great laughs. I'm looking for a man who is handsome AND has brains. Someone who can look "beyond next week". Extra points if you speak another language (preferably European). Surely that's not too much to ask! A little about me.  I'm tactile and affectionate. I'm baggage-free. I like to kiss and cuddle...and hold hands in public and I hope you do too. At night I like to wind down from my extremely important job with a glass of wine, some home-made rotolo al forno, and then curl up on the couch with a good DVD. I'm social but I'm a home-body. I'm loud but I'm shy. I like the occ...