Walking out of the sports centre after badminton club yesterday evening, my younger son and I were chatting about our games. Normally, we play a few games as a doubles partnership, but last night we only had one game together. In the first game of the evening we had trounced the opposition in a few minutes, so we had the rest of the hour to discuss.
"I played pretty well today," I said.
"You're the best woman player," he said, "no question."
"Well ... I dunno." I felt self-conscious about his compliment - hoped none of the other players had overheard. I'm not sure he's right, and I'm nothing if not pedantic.
"There's no doubt," he went on. "In fact, you're an honorary man."
I felt myself suddenly in deep water. We have a history of banter about gender politics, and I knew he knew that he had, as it were, pushed me off the edge of the pool and was standing smiling looking at me as I came up for air.
There is only one sensible choice to make on finding oneself in deep water.
"Thank you," I said, and relaxed, enjoying the feeling of floating on his admiration.
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