"What are you talking about?" I meant to sound concerned but instead I sounded exasperated. Mr C stood up and walked towards me. He grabbed my hands and clasped them to him. He was clearly starting a midlife crisis early.

It was Saturday morning in the Island Living 365 house and Mr C was perusing The Daily Fail on his mobile. He tells me that he doesn't believe anything that The Daily Fail says but likes to laugh at the stupidity of the people who comment. I was meanwhile whipping up a beautiful breakfast. Ok, I might have made that last bit up. Let's start again.

I was meanwhile glugging on a huge cup of coffee, dutifully ignoring the girls arguing over the Lego in the corner. Youngest seemed intent on repeatedly bashing Oldest over the head with a Lego tower. Mr C was unaware of the commotion as he was too busy getting angry at something Katie Hopkins had said.

I was admiring how resilient Oldest's head seemed to be to the repeated banging from the Lego wielding Youngest when Mr C put down his phone. Eeeks, this was about to get serious. Mr C only puts his phone down for very serious situations. In fact, I can only think of two times this has happened.

1) When the upstairs bath sprung a leak and started coming through the ceiling.

2) When my waters broke on the maternity ward.

This was clearly going to be super serious. Mr C coughed to clear his throat - this only compounded the seriousness of the situation.

"Bono has inspired me".

Mr C's sentence hung in the air. I was puzzled. Bono had inspired him. Had he been walking a dog that I didn't know about? I thought back over the last couple of months. I had caught Mr C watching puppies (not those sort, get your mind out of the gutter! I'm talking dogs) on YouTube. I was quite worried for a while. He seemed very intent on getting a "furry baby". Something about him being outnumbered. I thought that I had resolved it by getting him a rowing machine.

"What are you talking about?" I meant to sound concerned but instead I sounded exasperated. Mr C stood up and walked towards me. He grabbed my hands and clasped them to him. He was clearly starting a midlife crisis early.

"I'm talking about Bono, the philanthropist, campaigner, general do-gooder, brother of Bob Geldof..."

I interrupted, "I don't think they are actually brothers"

"They are in spirit" Mr C retorted. "Bono is..."

"An annoying know it all knobbly head" I laughed.

Mr C looked aghast at me.

"How can you say that about him? You are a feminist, you must appreciate the battles he is fighting on your behalf"

I immediately felt my blood pressure rise. In the corner of the kitchen the Lego bashing had stopped, all eyes were now fixed on me.

"Suuuuuuuuuuuure" I drawled sarcastically. "Thank goodness for Bono and let's not forget all of the many nameless women also trying to raise awareness"

"Ha" Mr C now looked triumphant. "But the nameless women don't have the Glamour Women of the Year award for it" Mr C actually looked smug.

"Exactly. The nameless, ordinary women don't have the Glamour Women of the Year award. That went to the very famous, multimillionaire MAN that is Bono"

Oldest piped up.

"Who is Bono Mummy?"

"Darling, Bono is a man. A M-A-N. He has a willy. He didn't push a baby out of his vagina because he doesn't even have a vagina. He is a MAN. Bono is a man and now he has been given a woman of the year award.

Oldest looked puzzled and then said "Well that's a bit stupid, you can't win woman of the year when you are a man"

"EXACTLY. Ha" I turned my eyes back on Mr C. "Even our 7 year-old daughter gets it"

"Mummy" Oldest interrupted again.

"What is a V-a-g-e-e-e-n-a"

"Oldest, it is a vagina, not a vageena, we have had this conversation before. I am not repeating myself."

Oldest looked at me innocently

"Oh yes Mummy, I remember now, you kept going red"

I shuddered as I recalled the conversation. In the background I could hear Mr C wittering on about mummy bloggers.

"What was that about mummy bloggers?" I asked him.

"I want to be a mummy blogger"

"What, why?"

"I want to win the "Mummy Blogger Award" as awarded by that magazine you read.

"But you don't blog and you are not a mummy"

"Ha! Didn't stop Bono though"

"To be fair to Bono he does actually do charity work for women. We could look at his award as a statement on gender fluidity. However, I am unable to see it as that as I find the MAN incredibly annoying. He is a man, he should not have been given that award" I argued.

"You are so hung-up on gender labels." Mr C chuckled.

"What!" I spat out. "I am hung-up on those gender labels because they have affected every area of my life. Bono is a man. He does not have boobs, he does not have a vagina. He can't carry a human being around inside of him for 9 sodding months"

"I bet he would if he could" Mr C murmured. "The man is a saint"

"Give me strength" I banged my head on the fridge. "Get your engineering award Mr C"

"What, why?" He looked scared. Perhaps he thought I was going to launch it out of the window. I remembered that it was acting as a door stop for the living room door. I marched across and picked it up, causing the door to slam.

I held the award in the air.

"This is now mine" I shouted.

Mr C looked perplexed.

"But it can't be, it has my name on it"

"So" I replied.

"It is an award for engineering" he stuttered.

"So" I replied.

We stood in silence. Mr C finally murmured.

"Ahh you are making a not so subtle point"

"That's right. Bono shouldn't have been given the award because he is not a woman. The award is woman of the year. End of. Simples."

"Ahh so you are happy to stick with that label" Mr C chuckled.

"You are on dangerous ground" I hissed. "I just think that this award was set up to celebrate the achievements of women and therefore it makes a mockery of it by giving it to a man. If you want to celebrate men as well then that's fine but change the label. Person of the year would be more apt."

"Agreed" Mr C nodded his head.

"What?" I replied.

"I was just trying to wake you up and I knew that you would get cross and wake-up about this" Mr C winked. I stomped my foot.

"Mummy" Oldest shouted

"Yes, darling" I replied.

"I'm going to win an award when I'm older"

"What's that darling?"

"I'm going to win the best man award and I am going to give it to all the women who didn't get an award because it went to a man"

"Ahh that's nice, lovely, you go and win any award you want, but do it for yourself, no-one else"

"Yes Mummy, and I know an award that Daddy could win"

"Best Daddy?" Mr C said hopefully.

"No Daddy, smelliest bottom"

Oldest then gave Mr C a Lego trophy.

"This is for you smelly bum" Oldest shared. Mr C accepted the trophy and then cleared his throat to make a speech.

"I would just like to say that I am obviously not a smelly bum but I will accept it on behalf of all smelly bums so that I can raise awareness of the terrible affliction that is flatulence. This is for you Mrs C and your smelly bum"

Cheek of it.

Disclaimer - This was inspired by real life events, some of it was fiction. However, I can confirm that Mr C does think Bono should have won the award, he does watch puppies on YouTube and he is the proud owner of an engineering award. Finally, he really does have a smelly bottom

This post first appreared on Island Living 365

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