P***ing on your own

I must say I never thought I would be mentioning " down there" on this blog, seeing as I am somewhat squirmy in relation to blood, women's troubles etc etc, but last night I was taken by Mrs. Lear and her friend, Mrs. Radio Executive, to see the Vagina Monologues.
The three actresses included Carol Smillie, she of the Dancing and Makeover fame. I laughed and laughed, with that slightly nervous, slightly embarassed edge at most of it, but there were one or two one liners that had me in hysterics. One was a reference to " not your ordinary minge, this is your M & S minge". The other was the description of the Wee Free sexual moan - consisting of a face like thunder, arms and legs crossed, and dead silence. In case you don't know, Wee Frees are a peculiarly intransigent Scottish offshoot of the most Knoxian , dour religious believers. One of the previous Chief Justices, whose name I think was Maclean of Clashfern, was a Wee Free. He attended the funeral of a lifelong friend of his, who happened to be Catholic. He was instantly prevented from attending any further of his Church's services. Forever.
Anyway, this is all a bit of a preamble. There I was, one of 5 men amongst about 1,000 women, and after the interval and the interval drink, I needed to go to the loo.
As you can imagine, there were lines of women for the ladies. I walked confidently to the gents, expecting no problems.
Except the theatre had decided in view of the number of females, they should be allowed to use the gents as well.
Fortunately, they had a (male) member of staff on duty, and when I suggested that not only was I in need but also probably quicker at it than the ladies, he promptly cleared the room, and left me there. Alone.
After this experience, I actually found it quite difficult to pass very much, especially as there was a sort of growl coming from the other side of the door. I hurriedly washed my hands and came out to find the usher, arms outspread, preventing my modesty being undermined. I then had to walk past about 100 extremely scowly ladies who would gladly have skewered me if given the chance. I hurried back to my companions for protection, and the show continued.
The point of all this is that people are always talking about a group of teenagers advancing towards one as being "scary". Believe me, that is as nothing to the feeling of 1000 women staring at you silently.
As a schoolboy, we used to be taken by the school to Stratford to absorb Shakespeare every term. The head of the English department said the same thing every time.
" Individually, you may be quite charming, but en masse you are revolting."
Too right.