Every Woman Knows a Ms W

Ms W has a seriously competitive streak – if she applied this trait to physical endeavours, rather than the cut-and-parry of bitchiness, she would be a world-class athlete. When discussing her up-coming wedding, romantic notions were far from her mind. “I want all my friends to be jealous,” she said, with utmost seriousness, “and realise how cheap their own weddings were by comparison.”

I bet every woman knows a Ms W (I say every woman, because Ms W-types never try to pull their crap on men, whose approval they desperately seek).

Often, it's not what she says, but how she says it. I have seen strong women crumple under the nuance of a single syllable uttered from her mouth. Mrs S mentioned a house they had viewed for sale in St Mary’s Bay, and how beautiful she thought the house was. Ms W nodded. "Oh yeees," she said, breathing out the word like agreeing was an immense effort. "We went to look at that place, but weren't keen – the décor was soooo tired – five or six years out of date, at least." Mrs S went a bit red, and mumbled something about how she had thought so too, but had liked the house anyway.

Ms W knows not to pick on me; I find the best way to dismantle her verbal bombs is to agree with her. "Gosh, isn’t your nailpolish… bright," she observed, with a grimace. "Oh, yes, it is, isn’t it!" I replied, cheerily, "It's whore-chic, the latest thing in London." The women sniggered, and Ms W swept off to find prey more easily embarrassed.

She will be there tonight; what fun lies ahead!