— Anne Nwakama
I was involved in a power struggle with Temperance Alexander, a collegue I’d rather be dating than fighting.
But Temperance was a rights fighter and was out to prove she wasn’t just an equal to a man but superior.
It was a conflict I didn’t want but didn’t know how to defuse, so I tried appeasing her.
My friend and collegue, Tom McFarland was convinced I’d end up as her lap dog, but I reassured him I wouldn’t be brow-beaten by a woman…
But to tell the truth, I wasn’t so sure of that myself.
Temperance was beautiful and I was weak…a situation that almost doomed me to fail.
But, out of the blue, two days later, Temperance invited me to the staff Christmas Party.
“I know convention dictates the gentleman ask the lady, but I’m a twenty-first century woman and liberated enough to be bold.”
“Of course, I’d be delighted to attend the party with you.”
I harboured some wild hope Temperance had wavered a little in her stance and had succumbed to the need of a man in her life.
The day before the party, I discovered otherwise.
“If you really wish a relationship of equals with me,” she smiled, “then tomorrow night at the party, when we dance, I want you to let me lead.”
The idea was preposterous, but I sensed the gesture was a tipping point in our relationship—if I gave in on this petty matter, she might be reassured I really loved her. So, I agreed.
The staff party was a glamorous affair—the men in tuxes and the women in gowns. Temperance looked particularly stunning—I could hardly keep my eyes off her.
As she led me out to the dance floor, I noticed all the female eyes in the room seemed focused upon us. Suddenly, it dawned on me what was happening.
This wasn’t just a matter between Temperance and me—it was a battle of the sexes. She told her friends and now they were enjoying the spectacle of seeing a man abased.
She put out her hand and took mine in hers and then proceeded to try and lead me round the floor. I took one step, then two and then stomped hard upon her foot.
“You clumsy oaf,” she screamed, “How could you miss the step?”
I leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “Actually, Temperance, it was your misstep. I’m afraid I’ll have to sit out this dance.”
I glanced over at Tom, standing near the bar. He smiled broadly and lifted his glass in salute.
I remember in school studying a poem called, The Glove and the Lions.
In the poem, a selfish Lady threw her glove into a lions’ den to prove her lover’s devotion to her.
The lover risked his life to retrieve the token, but returned it to the Lady, not in love, but by casting it back in her face.
King Francis who was watching remarked, “By God, rightly done. No love, but vanity, sets love a task like that.”
I think my situation with Temperance was similar. I would have demeaned myself to prove my love for her—but she crossed a line from making a point to making a spectacle out of me.
Love doesn’t do that.
I didn’t slap Temperance in the face—I stood on her foot. It still felt good.
My uncle was wrong in the advice he gave me. A true knight learns to rule his horse, but not to rule women. His greatest quest is to learn how to discipline himself and control his own emotions.
By the way, Tom’s first words to me when I returned to the bar were, “By God, Richard—rightly done."