The Declaration of Interdependence

I'm twenty-nine years old. I don't run around in power suits and killer heels carrying a scary briefcase and I don't wear sexy glasses to tone down the look. I'm generally in jeans and Nike trainers most of the time and I don't wear any type of glasses except a pair for the sun, the current pair from a sale of designer imitation eyewear.

However, the power executive and I have something in common. We are both independent women with a determination not to wait around for a man to take care of us. We don't need a man to validate us or give an ear before we take decisions. We're confident, we're beautiful and we're totally the modern woman.

This has been my state of mind since the day I understood the concept of independence but in recent times I have found myself starting to change, to question my notions of independence. The change is brought on by no one other than the enemy; a man.

I met him in the supermarket. I was dressed in a pair of dirty jeans and a Giordano top that used to be red in its heyday but was now almost white from over-wear. I didn't have on a bra and was walking down the frozen foods aisle, nipples on a 360 degree patrol when I ran into him. He was coming from the opposite direction and glanced into my shopping trolley. He spotted the hammer I'd picked up and remarked he'd never seen a hammer in a woman's shopping trolley before. Ordinarily, I'd have just walked by but there was something funny about what he said. We got down to talking and before I left the supermarket I'd parted with my seven digits.