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I WAS at an utter loss for words the other day after being unexpectedly greeted by the sound of a piercing yelp.

The screech that resounded from the mouth of my male friend, I suppose, could have been likened to the very same resonating blast you?d hear if you'd accidentally stepped on the paw of a pavement special while hurriedly making your way out your front door.

Scampering across the room, the screecher eventually explained his peculiar behaviour to me after somehow miraculously managing to calm himself down.

It turned out that his fingers had brushed across a patch of stubble under my armpit, where my razor had apparently not reached- my "bush of evil" as he put it.

In my opinion, it was hardly anything close to a "bush" of any sort: nevertheless, judging by my friend?s reaction, it was close enough.

I mean, how could I have been so careless, what with me being a woman and all?

Women are supposed to "take pride in their appearance", to be thorough and pretty much flawless in avoiding the stubble growing back under their armpits right? I need to take better care next time, my friend warned.

Not knowing whether to laugh in his face or slap it, I chose to scoff at his immaturity, told him to "get a life", and like a typical woman, I suppose, I ignored him for a good few hours.

Don?t get me wrong. I'm all for personal hygiene, but I thought we were long past perpetuating ideologies straight out of the stone age, especially when (might I add) my friend has his own bushes of evil, flourishing under just about every nook and cranny of his anatomy.

Sad to think that while we've come so far with the progressive legislation empowering women, the playing field, on grassroots level (no pun intended, of course), has by no means progressed in equal measure.

My experience, although it might seem fairly laughable by comparison, is just one symptom of a far bigger issue here ? whether it involves women who are looked down upon for their failure to live up to male standards, or women who are tortured in some cultures for wearing clothes that some regard as too revealing.

The reality is that society, by default, still expects women to be the nurturers, caring for men and their offspring, despite having the same amount of professional responsibilities as the men in question.

Growing up in an age where women supposedly have the world at their feet, but actually are still submissively washing the feet of others, becomes frustrating and confusing.

Are we empowered, or aren't we? Are we just kidding ourselves here, and fighting a losing battle? More importantly, what will it take to see a real, meaningful change in the mindsets of the men of our generation?

I don't know; something tells me the only hope lies in the education of our own sons, the next generation, those who are yet to come.

Of course, now I'm seriously doubting the long-term viability of a sustained friendship with the screecher, judging by his less than charming approach to my supposed shortcomings.

For better and worse? Well clearly he's just not man enough to cut it.

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