‘Morning ladies, “Geoff, the manager of the sports centre says as he passes me, my friend Ellie and Chloe on our way out of the changing rooms.

‘Patronizing twerp,’ I mutter.

‘Mum! He was only being polite.’ Chloe remonstrates while Ellie flicks me a conspiratorial look of agreement over the top of her head.

When a man says ‘Ladies’ he may fondly imagine he is being polite but the very word inserts us into (mostly male) thought bubbles with needlework, hot dinners, fluffy kittens and pink things.

‘What’s wrong with it? Toilets always say Ladies, or Gentleman,’ Chloe says.

‘Well firstly I don’t like being called something on a public convenience door and secondly I don’t pass men and say ‘morning gentlemen.’ If I did you’d know I was being sarky or patronizing, ’ I explain. I can see she hasn’t thought of it this way round.

‘Well you could say morning men…no that would sound like you were an army captain’ Chloe giggles.

‘Morning chaps?’ Ellie tries.

‘Morning boys. Morning lads. Morning males.’ We explode with laughter at that one before deciding ‘morning guys’ is probably the best, though still quite cheesy.

We agree that men who say hello to ‘girls’ or ‘lassies’ are equally cheesy especially when they refer to middle aged or elderly women as girls in the belief it flatters them. But ‘hello females’, or ‘hello women?’ No!

We decide that ‘Lady’ doesn’t apply to anyone with a face like a bulldog, anyone wearing tattoos or lip studs, or anyone with a handbag that could knock someone senseless. A lady rides a horse, or a bicycle with a large basket through a pretty village. WI women are usually ladies, with or without their clothes.

‘Gentlemen’ are men over sixty who doff their hats and open doors. Unfortunately they do have a habit of greeting groups of women by saying ‘morning/afternoon/evening ladies!’

I have become someone who sorts and pairs socks. Usually it’s the kids’ socks as I’m not too fussed where my own are concerned. I’ll wear odd socks, holey socks, the kids cast off socks – well Ben’s and Chloe’s, Timmy’s at a stretch – literally.

All unwanted socks are shoved my way so I have a drawerful of Mickey Mouse, Simpsons, glittery pink, stripey football, and fluorescent, which I wear randomly, getting caught out with the very worst combination when I want to make the best impression. At the school open evening Mr Harper’s eyes desperately try to stay focussed on my face, while sliding to my ankles and I suddenly realise that the smart black trousers that I pulled out of the wardrobe archive are slightly too short and I have ‘Boys are Smelly’ in silver on a pink background, on one ankle and luminous green with red skeletons on the other.

When Chloe notices where his eyes keep drifting and why, Mr Harper is the least of my worries, especially as her school progress is brilliant, so the role reversal is complete
“I have never been soooooo embarrassed in all my life. What will he think? You completely let the side down….” I humbly listen to her tirade and mutter that I didn’t mean it and I’ll make more effort next time.

So now I’m trying to find matching pairs amidst all the odd discarded socks in my drawer, while I wonder who determined that socks had to be a matching pair and why we don’t have a pair of bras and a jean or knicker. Also, why nobody ever told me that life could amount to sorting socks and thinking such crap.