An awful day

Becky Binz-Comely was having an awful day. It was that time of the month; Christmas was over; it was pissing down and freezing; the delayed train was steaming with sodden, standing commuters. 

Becky did what any well-brought-up young lady from Penge would do: she abused a near-minimum-wage oik in a cheap polyester uniform. 'You there...'.

It was only a hundred years from Passchendaele, when great grandmama had sat, crocheted, suffraged and sang 'We don't want to lose you, but...'. Becky was very proud of her heritage. 

This oik was not cannon-fodder, though: imagine Becky's chagrin when he did not cringe; imagine her horror when he actually answered back! 'Honey'! 

Becky was outraged. Becky was appalled. The struggle for women's rights was far from over. Had great-grandmama suffraged for this? Until a young, very well-brought-up female graduate could be heard in respectful silence, until her entirely justified complaints were met with bowing and scraping from servile polyester, until the word 'honey' from min-wage male lips was as unacceptable as the 'n-word' from a skinhead's, the fight was not won.

It was, after all, more than 100 years since Passchendaele.

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