Being the Penitent.

I saw a heavily pregnant woman in Ashbourne today, and it occurred to me that a pregnant woman is a rather lovely and life-affirming sight. This is a new one on me; I’d always been inclined to see pregnant women as rather lumpy creatures who were best ignored. After all, they’re not really women, are they, not when they’re that shape.

At this point I feel the searing energy of 3½ billion women rushing in my direction, aiming to have me strung up in somewhat indecorous fashion from a tree in Rutland. Please hold your fire and read on.

I wonder whether this is a step in the right direction. Maybe it indicates that I really am moving away from my unfortunate, lifelong habit of objectifying women. I hope so because that’s been a primary aim of mine for some time now, and if I can manage to complete the job before I die, I will consider my life to have been worthwhile after all. Maybe I will even be rewarded in my next life with a sight of the Grail.

(And I think it worth noting that the seminal occurrence which was probably solely responsible for this new mission was the sight of a very dear lady in a long blue maternity frock standing in a country garden three years ago. She stood still and statuesque while the sun smiled benevolently from a May sky, and I realised two things at that moment. The first was that I should work diligently to alter my perceptions of women, and especially pregnant ones. The other will remain unsaid.)