We've all heard that men are from Mars, women are from Venus. But when it comes to what really divides the sexes, TV is the final frontier. I believe that the real problem of miscommunication between the sexes is that when it comes to the TV programs we favor ... Men are from Genocide, Women are from Lifetime (Channel for Women).

Ladies, do you have this particular problem with your husband? You want to spend a cozy evening together, feeding each other popcorn and snuggling up like two bunnies in a burrow, only it is impossible, because he always wants to watch something dripping in gore while you want to watch something dripping in chocolate (Top Chef), dripping in lace (Project Runway), or dripping in schmaltz (A Lifetime Original movie about a woman with six kids who battles breast cancer against the odds).

It was a day like any other. I was walking down the street when I heard the first ominous sounds of male lust. First it was simply horns beeping. At me. I admit, I have in the past had the occasional horn beeped at my personage. But this was just plain weird, because it was happening every few minutes.

Then, while I stood at a traffic light, a man in a car who looked like he probably kept a knife in his pants leered at me with an expression akin to a lion spying a dead wildebeest in one of those wildlife programs.

Then, as I crossed the road, another guy yelled out, "How're you doing, cutie?"

I recently had a man write to me on my blog and ask me to send him my dirty panties. I'm not sure what he wanted them for. Maybe he's a bit of a clean freak and likes to wash and launder them and send them right back. Or maybe he doesn't.

But what quite annoyed me was that he wasn't prepared to pay for the privilege of sniffing my smalls. He claimed that he had not ejaculated for a month and wanted some lady bloggers who he was keen on to send him their panties so that he could have an explosive wank, maybe against a backdrop of fireworks on the forth of July?

My friend Daisy sleeps with her husband Darren and a rather smelly Beagle called Spot. And since her husband either can't or won't get it up, I have long told her that she might get more sex if she kicked Spot out of bed. But after what happened last night, I'm beginning to wonder whether maybe that advice was all wrong.