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Hard wired to worry

I have a theory, honed during a chilly walk with Four-legged-friend,  that somewhere in the intricate and vastly complex knitting that is the genetic make up of a woman there is a strong consistent thread that carries the code for worry.  In most men, the thread is absent or at least partially deleted.

Why do I think this? - isn't it obvious? Three scenarios to persuade you:

You're invited out to dinner - people you don't know very well, so there has already been some anxiety over which dress to wear, how smart to be - but at the time given on the invitation, your man is still in the bath, or worse, has just decided that he needs to measure the bathroom wall ready for the shelves he plans to put up tomorrow before he gets into the bath. You have already apologised to the babysitter for getting her round too early (this is of course nonsensical, as she doesn't care: you are still here, sorting out your child, and she is being paid for watching you). You have changed shoes twice already and fretted about your earings. And now, he says he has to make a quick phone call before you leave! Should you phone your hosts to warn them you will be late? Should you sulk and glare at your man all evening as he relaxes, ignores you - he didn't appreciate you voicing your worries about being late in the car - and give in to your worry-genes by being up tight and stressed and not enjoying the evening at all, or should you take a leaf out of his book, fail to notice the faint aroma of burnt over dinner and eat, drink and be merry? No ... I'd probably be too worried about giving the wrong impression!

Or consider man and woman, together with their children, on a skiing holiday (and I know I'm not alone in suffering from this particular worry). Man and children career down ski slopes that look like the precipices plunging off mountainous skyscrapers sketched by an artist with a distinctly masculine mean streak, which everyone assures you are 'easy reds' but you know are actually double blacks. There was a day, pre-children, when your knees would have behaved with a little more elasticity than the terrified, frozen rictus that afflicts them now, but the problem is, if you don't get to the bottom of the slope in one piece, then who is going to pick up all the sweaty clothes at the end of the day, hang them up to dry, empty the snow out of boots, feed the children, prepare the packed lunches for tomorrow, stick plasters on blisters and kiss bumps and bruises better, read the bedtime story and find the cuddly pink rabbit that has fallen under the bed? While man sleeps off his exposure to the mountain air and wakes just in time for dinner.

And who but mothers the world over worry about their sons and daughters let loose behind the wheel of a killing machine when they first pass their driving test? Men just see it as an irritation because insurance companies charge such an extortionate amount to cover young drivers, and as a massive convenience because the new driver can now share the taxiing of younger siblings  - which of course just sends mothers' worry into the stratosphere!

So I reckon I have a convincing theory;  should I worry about whether or not you agree? - guess that depends on whether you are man or woman.

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