Let’s start with a neat division: on one side, there are you – mothers, married women, the always-coupled, the forever ‘us’; on the other, there are us – the singles, the no-kids, the forever ‘I’ (also called the cat-collecting spinsters). And it has always been an infinite and exhausting battle. On one side, your security (sometimes more apparent than real), on the other our exuberance (ditto, sometimes more apparent than real). You disregarding us as eternal Trilly, slightly pathetic and alone; us mocking your boring ordinary life. Obviously there’s a quite substantial undercurrent to take into account because, more often than not, we both envy the other’s field, longing to switch roles if only for a day. This writing is for you women, sisters, mothers and partners. I – the no-kid, no-husband, no-boyfriend, potential loose cannon for your partners’ sexual amusement – hereby confess a profound esteem, a felt admiration for your strength, your sensitivity, your outstanding capability of attending, loving, supporting, helping, uplifting, resolving, organizing, understanding, forgiving your men. Let me be clear: all this ‘work’ you do is highly rewarded by your role’s benefits: you are surrounded and overwhelmed by love, joy, noise, presence, chaos, life every minute of your existence. We, especially after a certain age, might look flamboyant and superb in a few selfies, but we go back to an empty and silent home. I am sure that sometimes you envy our peaceful environment; a place where you can escape to, when you need a room’s of your own, as Virginia Wolf depicted in her essay ‘A Room of One’s Own’; a place to go to when everything around you seems on the verge of imploding. It is normal to want the grass always greener on the other side. It lies in our nature longing for what we don’t have. But this is an ode to you, my extraordinary amazing women. A tribute to what you manage to do, with all the commitments, troubles and contingencies of a life in two, three, four. I made a choice: I chose not to have kids. I have never thought it could be a hard choice to make. But whatever … Now, at 42 years old, I realize this could be one of my regrets. A tough one too. Nonetheless, I don’t change my mind. Every choice entails sacrificing something else. And when I see you with your toddlers, when I read the absolute serenity in the choice you made and you carry on, when, on top of everything else, you work, smile, live and somehow manage to handle everything, I salute you as my muses. Surely one day I will devote a similar ode to you fathers, who are as much strong and present in your kids’ life. Yet, men represent a minority compared to women, who have always been brought up and educated to multitask and basically deal with anything. From the lack of love, respect, sexuality and role; abdicating their necessities for the family, aka husband and kids. We women have gone through and will face any social, political and historical storm, while always standing by our men, both the ones coming inside or outside our vajeje. I hereby want to sing the praises of you and me too. Everyone of us is a woman in her own personal way. If only we were to understand our huge potential, all together, – I am not saying to go back being amazons with a single titty slaughtering all the men because, after all, we love the cock – if only we were to bury the hatchet between us, none could stop the political and social rise of a reality that has always existed since the dawn of time: matriarchy. Because in my opinion, patriarchy has produced lots of wars, violence and sufferings. This writing has turned into a manifesto. But, beyond the trite ‘tremble, tremble, the witches are back’, I am more for a ‘be cool, the witches never left’. And if we haven’t completely wiped you out, castrated and turned into toads, maybe you could also let your anxiety go and allow us to be women. Saints and sluts at the same time, so you will save your hard-earned money, otherwise spent in easy street ladies, and we promise we won’t shag our Pilates instructor. Kisses and wisdom from Lake Como, from me and my cat, the best friend of spinsters and witches since the dawn of times, it goes without saying.