Catfight!

Huh! You don’t know what a catfight is? Preposterous. Do not get caught saying that out in the open. It is the greatest invention since strip tease, otherwise known as kim…. Anyway, whenever there is a catfight somewhere, normally in the locker room where there is little chance of being rescued, everyone gets excited. You just cannot beat that feeling; watching these girls going at each other and trying their darndest to scratch each other’s eyes out.

There are many reasons why the strong bond of sista-hood could be broken. You all know that in normal circumstances, there is nothing as strong as a group of women together and intent on getting something. They take the saying that two heads are better than one to a whole new level. Since one female head is said to be equal to three male heads (not size wise, you punk), when for example, three ladies get together to give one of their friends advise on what to do with that idiot who is mistreating her, they are actually nine brains at work. Nine!

So, when two feisty sirens everyone thought had it all start screeching and baring their fangs and claws at each other, there is definitely trouble in paradise. And it’s all the more interesting when you closely look at the sequence of events as the fight hots up.

First, they are both chummy and they sing “I got all my sisters with me” with gusto. They want the guys with the cameras to catch them like this- at their happiest. They want the whole world to know that they are inseparable, these two sisters. Yes, they are that close. They are sisters because they have adopted each other’s families. They have done the whole nine yards including sleepovers and crying over first crushes.

Then the two move on to the next level. The world has accepted that they are the perfect sisters. Everyone who has problems relating with her sister is referred to these two. They sing the most beautiful songs and the world stares agape. Not long after, when the ever-present menace of the weaker sex, the man, makes an entrance in this pretty little picture, the cracks start to appear.

One goes and commits the unforgivable sin; she splits and goes off- with a man. A man! How dare she drug the friendship through the mud like this? If she had decided to go away to study, maybe, it would have been bearable. If she had decided to go to the jungles of the Congo to be a missionary, probably, the other would have even escorted her to the edge of the forest and waved till her friend’s receding figure was no longer visible. But to fall for the wiles of a man?

So, we return to the arena. We are all perched on the tops of the lockers and we are baying for blood. We do not have to disguise ourselves as girls because the two gladiators do not care anymore. They have thrown off all pretensions and they are concentrating on only one thing, to show who has the…brains. Who will kick the other’s bottom? Who is going to walk away as the victor?

Like lightening, they are at each other’s throats. They hiss and mewl. They scratch and kick. They are at once dangerous and beautiful, locked in this act of war. None is ready to let go, not this time. Letting go, even with all these scratches would mean capitulation. We are getting tired. “Do something new,” we scream. “Is this a fight or a dance?”

But like all stars, like all women worth being called women, they do not lose face. When they realise that they are not progressing anywhere, their quick minds think up something. They exchange looks and more is said in that second than could have been uttered.

Wait! Something is happening. Something is not right. They are disentangling. And look, they are smiling! Let me laugh a while. I do not know why I should think this is strange. This is very typical…Okay, now I have laughed. What was that, you ask? That was just a taste of what it means to be female. When you cannot beat the foe, join them. A catfight is not a catfight unless it has such intrigue.