What we should mind men doing... but don’t

The things women really don’t mind that men do (even if we’re meant to)

You’ve heard the one about the professor in the lift who, when someone asked, “Which floor?” called out “Ladies lingerie!” and was later reported for sexism by a fellow female academic? It’s the mad, taking-offence moment of the month so far. We all know it’s bonkers. None the less, this stuff has a way of making us all nervous, given that a man caught in an inappropriate-words sting can lose his job faster than he can say: “Hang on, that was like saying ‘Haberdashery!’ or ‘Beam me up, Scotty!…’”

So, once again, the question of what women do and don’t mind is top of the agenda, and we must spell out the blindingly bleeding obvious one more time.

Women do not mind the words “Ladies” or “lingerie” used separately or in conjunction. We would mind if some bloke were to creep up behind us and say: “Ladies lingerie… I’ll have yours, on me ’ead.” Otherwise, no idea what was going on in that lift. We have racked our brains and… nothing. “Ladies lingerie”? Is it “ladies” that’s the trigger word here? No, we give up. Just carry on saying it, if you get the urge. Maybe say it a lot, in case the words accidentally end up on the bonfire of Unacceptables, along with “fat” and “chairman”.

What else don’t we mind that we’re supposed to?

We don’t mind a person of the opposite sex paying. They don’t have to but coughing up for dinner is not automatically demeaning or patronising. Sometimes, on TV series

First Dates, the women have a canary trying to pay, when the poor bloke is just being polite and doing what his mum told him to (he’s on telly, after all). We really don’t mind having money spent on us. Pay no attention to the rumours: you may buy us stuff and, if unsure exactly what to buy, head to Pippa Small or Monica Vinader, or just give us cash.

We don’t mind men admiring how we look (“Like the jumpsuit!” “Are those the new nano heels, they’re fun!”). We love all that, of course we do. Just glancing appreciation – not perving and stroking the area under consideration – is the rule, but who doesn’t know that?

We don’t mind having things explained by men, or women, or children. And if we don’t require an explanation, we can always say: “Yes, yes, I know… but what about the black hole? I’m still a bit sketchy on that.” You may mansplain about the Palestinian question to your heart’s content. The Irish border solution? All ears. What we do mind is if you wince and get the “Urgh, Woman Speaking, I Can’t Stand That” look when we interrupt your monologue.

We don’t mind a man asking: “Do you need a hand with that?” If it’s opening a letter, we’d have to say: “What?” If it’s wielding a chainsaw, we might say: “Think I’ve got this, you could hold the ladder?” But, then again, we might easily need a hand, like anyone with only two hands. And go ahead and say: “Do you need a hand, love?”, or “my lover”, if south of Exeter.

We don’t mind men saying: “Go and have a lie-down, I’ve got it under control.” You have never said that, and we would love it if you did.

We don’t mind men chuckling at the ladies football. We just can’t get cross about it, because we have also seen you roaring on the lady snowboarders and the curlers and the cyclists and the rowers and the boxers… You just don’t rate some lady footballers.

We don’t mind being offered a seat on a crowded train during a heatwave. Strapping young man squatting on rucksack, or old-enough-to-be-hismother lady crouched on her handbag… which looks more appealing, is all you have to ask.

Until the next manshaming crisis…

‘Pay no attention to the rumours: we really don’t mind having money spent on us’