When a female friend of mine questioned Robert Wright, the author of The Moral Animal and one of the prime popularisers of this position, about some of his unshakable convictions in the male-female contrariety, he opened his eyes wide, stared at her, and said, manfully, You don’t know what it’s like.

Their own private life gets to be a rat-race.

The President said that he would now take questions, and several reporters raised their hands.

Apparently the nearest ice cream spot was a mile or two down the streets of a fragile neighborhood with dilapidated homes, some sprayed with graffiti. It was the hoodiest hood I'd ever seen selling ice cream, definitely not a place for snobs.