I’m into encouraging what you love instead of furiously bashing what you hate. Due to this, I tend to avoid places that are going to push my irritation buttons such as toyshops that divide the boys “tough, strong, action orientated, building and development” section from the girl’s “nausea inducing, candy floss fuzz of nail glitter sets and cookie cutters”.

But sometimes button pressing things leap out at you when you least expect it.

Like on a Tuesday morning whilst leisurely strolling around a garden centre.

I really, really LIKE garden centres and I’m not ashamed to admit it.

 I like the smell.

I like the atmosphere.

I like the salt-of-the-earth-and-slightly-weather-beaten look of the staff and the pathways that lead through the blooms. People in garden centres remind me of little buzzy things in the garden during a long summer day; minding their own business, moving from plant to plant, just bee-ing happy.

You know?

I was in a particularly meditative state on my Tuesday morning expedition to Thompsons – almost a little sun-drunk on the fragrance and promise of warmer months. As I approached the till to pay, I noticed the gardening glove stand and remembered the particularly large area of nettles that I need to tackle in my garden.

That’s when I saw them.

I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Gender specific gardening gloves.

Seriously.

According to Thompsons on the Isle of Wight, women gardeners get to knee daintily on one 1950’s knee and pluck a few sprigs of rosemary … but should they attempt anything more than that their Hands-That-Judishes-Will-Feel-Soft-As-Your-Face mits will be stung, scratched and torn to buggery.

On the other hand, the men get these:

Protective, strong, lasting and resilient reinforced canvas gloves for proper gardening.

Pffff.