Blackberry bushes

Augusta Webber (Tennyson's favourite poet for those of you who like to know these things), said that a woman's life is like a Blackberry bush (no not the electronic devise beeping in your pocket). People come along and strip her of her fruit (time) and then expect her to be replenished the next day - an endless supply of giving.
I'm feeling particularly Blackberry bushish this weekend, and for a change, I'm not blaming anyone but myself and my conditioning. Because the reason dear Augusta said this was because this is the way woman are conditioned and it doesn't seem to matter how feminist we are or how evolved, we still drop everything to tend to others.
I was in fact writing a different blog yesterday evening when the bloke turned up and I stopped, just stopped dead mid sentence and went to see what he wanted to eat, drink, watch. Part of me just stood there with her metaphoric mouth open going 'Hey what??' while the other part grated cheese and opened a bottle of wine. I felt angry and resentful for the rest of the evening and the poor bloke couldn't work it out, he had no idea that there was this huge row going on in my psyche.
'What did you do that for? He'd never stop work for you?'
'I want to be thoughtful and nice'
'Do you want a pinny too? And a 1950's frock to go with that?'
'Look, it wasn't going anywhere anyway.'
'It might have, you were just warming up.'
'And then I'd have been at the computer for hours and he'd have felt neglected and gone home, or started texting friends.'
'So?'
'Well....'
'Get a grip woman.'
One goes off in tears other self sulks...oh joy!
And you know what? I don't even like Blackberries.