I wrote in a comment the other day that women generally come in three types: the wicked, the playful, and the faithless.
Many asked what on earth that meant............ Well, let me explain ..............
Wicked women are wicked to the core. What do they do?
They scheme and connive, living in treachery much like Shakespeare's deceitful heroines.
They spin webs—if they don't set a trap, they can't digest their dinner in peace.
They sow discord in the home, telling him what she said and her what he said.
They dispense cunning and lap it up like cream—their brains are wired such that every inch of intelligence is stuffed with devilry.
They isolate their husbands from everyone, cannot bear to see anyone else happy.
They won't let their boyfriends mix with others, not even with other boys.
They're eaten up with suspicion—the moment a woman's name appears in Facebook's "People You May Know," they demand, How do you know her? Why is Facebook suggesting her to you?
They puff out their cheeks so habitually you're tempted to punch them just to make the swelling real.
They turn the household into a melodrama from a TV serial.
They save on the mother-in-law's sari fund to buy themselves expensive ones.
Playful women are the "Oh, you're such a brat!" kind.
They prance and make others prance, and you feel like dragging them off to sit in some wild grass patch by the roadside.
They make a show of things, make you make a show of things—if you can't provoke them into a tantrum, life feels utterly pointless!
They sulk rather than rage. Looking at their pouted lips turned upside down, you want to lean in and kiss them gently and say, I love you terribly, you pest!
They puff their cheeks in ways that make you want to grab and pull them. You want to tap their heads, noses, cheeks with the back of your finger.
At midnight they suddenly wake and say, I want ice cream. Let's go!
When you're busy and don't give them attention, they wrap their arms around your neck from behind and won't let go, even if you say "Just a minute, I'm coming."
Their eyes speak twice what their mouth says. Their gaze holds such magic you want to touch it and see.
They call their beloved by the most adorable animal names.
Whether their person calls them darling, baby, sweetness, magic, or whatever pet name—if it's not that particular name, they know instantly that he must be upset with them. They cry the sweetest tears of remorse and sorrow!
With their beloved they remain forever a bewildered girl. (Though really, women stay bewildered girls their whole lives. If they don't, it's not their fault—it's their lover's.)
Faithless women are like the kind in the novel Abdullah—"a woman, the kindling of hell."
They love little, desire much. If they don't get enough attention, they'll switch lovers if they must.
They post a photo in the morning captioned "My darling" with one man, then carry on with another by nightfall.
They excel at intrigue and double-dealing.
In their recklessness they sometimes outdo the boys.
They're carbon copies of Hamlet's mother Gertrude. Any man at all becomes dear to them. They have hearts vast enough to hold everyone. They're capable of harboring the whole world.
If they can't extort love by force, they turn vengeful, try to cause harm. (Is that really love? How does someone who loves cause such damage?)
If a friend gets even slightly ahead, they burn with jealousy. They couldn't afford a smartphone themselves, but their roommate did—so at night when the roommate falls asleep, they take the phone and leave it in a bucket of water, calling it repeatedly to watch it miss the calls.
They can't write "My favorite hobby is the game of love" on exam papers without heartbreak. Like men, they believe in loveless physical intimacy.
They change boyfriends like tissues, even after marriage. Just as men are prone to infidelity, so too are these faithless women.
There are many other kinds of women beyond these, such as…………
Tree-women: These are the tree-like sort. When you're near them it feels good, when you're away it feels even better.
You can touch them and nothing happens.
The Scholarly Girl: When you see them, you don’t feel like loving them—only like respecting them and touching their feet in greeting.
The Airavata Girl: When you see them, you feel like saying “Auntie, Assalamu Alaikum.”
The Fairy Girl: When you see them, you wish you could turn into a jinni and fly away into the sky.
The Pretentious Girl: When you see them, you feel like throwing them and smashing them to the ground.
The Famous Girl: Compared to talking with them, even swatting cockroaches with a sponge slipper seems far better—that’s what you think.
The Anxious Girl: As long as you’re with them, the same question will keep striking at your mind again and again: Why is life so terribly long??
The Shameless Girl: When you see them, you feel like dying of embarrassment.
The Arrogant Girl: If you talk to them, you’ll want to punch them and smash their nose flat.
The Flour-and-Semolina Girl: When you see them, you’ll feel like singing: “Oh rain, oh rain, don’t fall on her face!”
The Cat Girl: They’re always rubbing up against everyone. When you’re in love with them, you’ll think it’s better to raise chickens than to keep a cat like that.
The Missed Call Girl: Their missed calls will often drive you to board that cellular airplane.
The Babbling Girl: When they call, you can hold the phone away from your ear for a few minutes, put it back, and find they’re still saying the same thing, just rehashing it over and over.
(Phew………how much more joking can I do! There’s got to be a limit to all this nonsense! As it is, I’m sitting here on top of that infamous dreadful road from Satkira to Dhaka; on a bus. Such potholes and ruts don’t exist even on remote village roads! On this road, the bus doesn’t travel—it sways. A real boating adventure right on the asphalt! The single seat in front is completely tilted over my feet, passenger and all. I’ve been hunching forward, screen bent at an angle, lamp glaring down on the keyboard, typing away this whole time with my neck bent forward in real discomfort, doing all this nonsense and foolishness and goofiness up above. Writing like this is terribly annoying and painful! My neck and back ache, and there’s real strain on my eyes. ……………. Still, one thing is true: without a mischievous girl in the house, life becomes as flat and dull as that story of Mulla Nasrudin. Let me tell it: On the wedding night, Mulla Nasrudin saw his bride’s face for the first time when she lifted her veil. He was deeply disappointed. When the bride asked Mulla Nasrudin, “Well then, whose presence do I have to veil myself before in this house?” He promptly replied, “No one else—just before me will do!” ………….. So, there’s nothing wrong with mischief!)