Ten years ago, shortly after the invasion of Iraq, I found myself in some mid-town office building getting on an elevator. I was followed by four young women, all seemed to be in their late 20’s or early 30’s. They were all good looking, fit women. Three were white and the fourth was African -American. They all wore skirts, hose, and high-heeled shoes.

They were having an animated discussion of the U.S. invasion of Iraq. George Bushs’ name was bandied about and disparaged in no uncertain terms. There was real anger in the women. One of them declared loudly; “Women don’t start wars, only men do!”

There were grunts and sighs of assent and agreement, in concert with a lot of vigorous head nodding.

I stood behind them, listening, I took the MEN explicative very personally. Should I say anything? Or just let them yammer on in ignorance. Well, I couldn’t do that, could I? I’m the type of person that corrects people when they get something wrong. Not a good thing, I’ve learned. But this I could not abide.

“Margaret Thatcher started a war.” I said to my captive audience.

There was dead silence on the elevator. Not a one turned to look at me, but I could tell by the set of their collective shoulders they’d heard, and they hadn’t liked it.

The elevator door opened and they all trooped out without a backward glance. As soon as they were out of sight I heard them re start their conversation. Chalk one up for the men, I thought.