No man's woman
"I don't wanna be no man's woman
I've other work I want to get done
I haven't travelled this far to become
no man's woman
no man's woman" (Sinead O'Connor)
Remember Sinead O'Connor, who would contest that she didn't want to be 'no man's woman'? The simple act of shaving one's head is enough to quell that notion. The rest of us so much as trim our fringe and we worry that any former ability to attract the opposite sex is lost forever...or at least until it manages to grow out and we lose the result of what we just paid for. Tricky logic at play there.
Which leads me to the real 'burning' question of the day. No, not who feels slightly uncomfortable about Nicole Kidman's upcoming wedding to the country singer (although, I do hope she has consulted with Rene Zellwegger).
Rather, what is the correct emotion to feel towards the WAGs? For those who haven't been following 'The Media's Other World Cup', WAGs stands for the Wives and Girlfriends of the England footballers.
Without getting into specifics or individual fingerpointing, beyond the right here crowning of Victoria as Queen WAG - based on seniority, of course, as she has been a WAG as long as anyone can remember.
I mean generally, taking them as the collective bunch of contrived glamour that they are, should we admire their shameless conspicous consumption or abhor their narcissitic vanity ridden ways? Given they are a collective mix of bimbos and highschool sweethearts, it is hard to feel much for them, one way or the other.
Which leads me back to the WAGs and on to a more philosophical (ok, not by the strict textbook definition of the word) question - do they want to be a man's woman, or is everything they do to make sure they are 'no man's woman'?
The parading around shopping all day in virtually invisible to the naked eye hot pants, with stick insect legs poking out atop 4 inch stilettos, only to be unbalanced by inversely proportional breasts, would lead one to believe that they are the creme de la creme of the ladies of leisure.
With all this glitzy orchestration, it is easy to forget why they are there in the first place. Their husbands and boyfriends are playing in quite an important football tournament, apparently.
But, as anyone who has watched the WAGs in action over the past week would know, 90 minutes on the pitch pales into insignificance alongside the Olympian stamina required of a professional footballer's wife on tour.
The pecking order is only set in so far as Victoria is Queen Bee not just Queen B. For the rest of them, the month is filled with constant jostling for the next rung up.
If their hair, sunglasses and handbags are oversized, that's nothing in comparison to their budgets. And all because they don't want to be 'no man's woman.' If they weren't afraid to let their husbands and boyfriends (HABs) determine their pecking order, wouldn't they just sit back and let the HABs fight it out on the pitch the old fashioned way - punch for punch, not gucci for gucci?
No, not this breed of WAGs. No way, I mean even us fans are struggling to completely trust their HABs to make it happen...
Liz's tip on where to watch:
Selfridge's(Oxford Street)has transformed a section of the basement floor to cater for football fever including wall to wall screens, a special whiskey bar and a Square Pie Company concession. To top it off there are loos right next to the screens,and trust me loos are a rare commodity in Selfridge's. So if you are there to actually watch the footie you won't miss a kick.
And watching it in Selfridge's is the boldest way of saying you ain't 'no man's woman'.