‘Being a man must be so much easier' says our columnist Kathy Lette

Recently, I had a collision with another cyclist. When I stood up to him about his aggressive riding, he pedalled off, shouting, "I bet you wish you were a man!" I shot back, "I don’t, but I bet you do."

Still, this exchange got me thinking about how much easier it is to be a bloke. Not only would I score more pay and promotions, but my phone conversations would take 30 seconds, tops. Hairdressers wouldn’t charge me triple for a trim. I’d never have to worry about stray chin hairs or shave anything below the epiglottis, including no more of that painful pubic deforestation. I’d even have a choice about whether or not to grow a moustache.

And oh, the joy of not having to stay dehydrated all day to avoid a long loo queue at the theatre later on. Plus, at the post-show dinner, I could mansplain the plot, then manspread on the train home.

Best of all, I would no longer have to be nice. As a female, I’m such a people pleaser... and if you don’t like that, then I can change! But as a guy, I wouldn’t have to apologise for anything. I could just do what the hell I want.

Imagine being able to stroll past building sites and not get catcalled, and walk home alone at night with no fear.

Who wouldn't want to be a Silver Fox?

I could also lick an ice cream without every guy in the vicinity imagining me naked. And gain 10kg without being judged, meaning that I’d never have to forgo pudding.

Four pairs of shoes would be adequate for my entire life. And I could wear whatever I want. As a middle-aged woman, if I don a short skirt or flash bare arms, I’m immediately arrested by the fashion police with cries of, ‘What night is it? Grab a granny?’

I’ve yet to ever hear a man derided as ‘mutton dressed as ram.’

Nor would I be dismissed as an old crone, a bag or a hag. In fact, wrinkles and grey hair would add character.

And on Tinder, women half my age would swipe right on me because I’m a Silver Fox.

Being female does have some advantages

Granted, car mechanics wouldn’t lie to me. No one would presume that I can’t parallel park, either. If I carried a friend’s wailing baby around a supermarket strapped to my chest, shoppers wouldn’t glare but look at me adoringly.

Plus, if I’m passed over for promotion due to my general ineptitude, I can simply blame women.

After a brief phase of domination – roughly all of recorded history up to now – I can still whinge about how men are being demonised and discriminated against.

I may even throw in a caustic complaint about how my female colleagues slept their way to the top (a curious accusation, as there are so few women up there).

But, there are multiple good things about being female – as in multiple orgasms. Plus our multiple friends, allowing us to have a good cackle at all of the above. We also live longer than men...

Although on second thoughts, that’s just so typical of blokes – leaving all the cleaning up to a woman!