Being a woman comic, these are things that happen.

1. Watching the hotel receptionist ignore you and speak to your husband, explaining stuff and giving keys out, even though you are paying the bill and the room is in your name (which is entirely different from his).

2. Turning up at a new theatre gig and watch the front of house staff explain to my husband (who drove me there and is only walking me in and is not a comic) where the green room is and shaking his hand, assuming he must be the headline act and not me.

3. Computer staff asking my husband what his job is to get a laptop to suit his needs when in fact it was me who asked them for assistance and he was only standing beside me.

4. People assuming I would wet my knickers to run to the 'Prosecco and Cupcake' table at a charity event.

5. Organisers ignoring every male comic in the room to tell specifically me that 'this event would prefer if swearing was kept to a minimum'.

6. Having a woman apologise in advance for my language at a comedy/political event after four men had sworn onstage before me. She gave them great introductions with no 'bad language' comments.

7. Men asking me what my husband thinks of my job.

8. Women asking me what my husband thinks of my job and did I feel like a bad mother leaving my daughter in her father's care as I pursued my career.

9. Audience member's telling me they don't normally like female comics, but I was good.

10.  People asking me if my comedy is about my vagina and hating men.

11. When explaining my husband doesn't work, having to listen to men assume he must be secretly resentful I make money. You are not allowed to reverse that question on them, apparently that's me being defensive.

12. People asking me if being a 'woman 

comic' is actually a real job.

Come see 2 funny women at Glasgow International Comedy Festival MARCH 2015

Always Scented Pads WHY??

I am a Scottish woman aged 53 years old. I have been having a menstrual period since 1979. 

My womb basically feels like a cluster bomb has erupted and the pain is two steps down from childbirth. 

Every 28 days I live on extra strong painkillers, on a few occasions I genuinely considered a morphine suppository and I go to sleep once a month petrified my bed will look like someone has left a horses severed head on the sheets. I live with it.

I adore that we no longer have the days of skanky ripped up rags or torturous panty pad belts that exacerbate the discomfort like some kind of kinky Catholic pain penance device, so don't think I am ungrateful for your pads. Their invention was long awaited.

What I cannot understand is what MAN in your department decided that 'scented' pads was the way to go. REALLY? SCENTED? Who was this man and why did he do this? Does he live with a woman?

The last thing I need to smell amongst the foul stench of stale blood and iron fillings is a 'hint of fresh flowers' permeating from my knickers as I go to for a pee or a pad change.

My poor husband bought these pads in a panic buy ( I was at home plotting to burn the city down) and he knew nothing of the 'fresh scented' addition. We are now divorced, well not really....but I shouted something's about his dead mother that I fear I can never take back.

You scented pads did this.

Just so you know, there are no 'scents' in the world that would cover up the dead fleshy honk that emanates from my womb, other than constant bathing and the kind of wipe down that is reminiscent of those forensic house cleaners after a dead body has been found in a static caravan.

So quit with the 'flowery scented pads' women's vagina's do not smell of flowers and never will unless I die from period pains and my husband shoves a bouquet up there as a lasting testimony about the stuff I said to him about his mum when he bought me your 'fresh scented pads'.

Thanks for this @janeygodley