Lost in the gene pool?

These are truly glorious times. Not just today or the year gone by, but the 21st century in general. From times when man’s biggest fear was making it through the night to planning to settle on other planets, we have indeed come a long way. But it has its downside too: Back in the day everyone could hunt and skin a deer, create a fire and cook it. They could build houses, make dams, grow crops and rear children. Everyone was, generally speaking, versatile.

Today, our lives are exponentially more complex. We know how to use so many things to make life simpler but we know absolutely nothing about how those things really work. Douglas Adams was so right when he showed how the last surviving Earthling, when placed in another sort of similar planet, was only able to make sandwiches as his contribution to their alien society. 500 years of civilisation and all Arthur could do was make sandwiches.

And even there, Arthur is better than most guys — we can stick a piece of meat between two slices of bread but how many of us could have baked that loaf of bread or hunted and smoked that meat, or made some cheese after milking a cow? If left to my devices, I’d probably starve myself to death — that is, if I don’t poison myself with stale food first. And what do women get in return for all this service? Is there any redemption for them at the end of a day of selfless service?

Well, we men can open jars for them, mostly, and perhaps we know how to bribe officials. And then there’s that hollow sense of security too. But barring the most banal of tasks that would largely be categorised under disguised unemployment, we don’t really have to sing for our supper.

Ah, as many a male will offer as a rebuttal, we men are half the party to help make babies. Without us, women won’t be entirely capable of this feat of nature and there’s nothing they can do to deny us this privilege. Right?

Wrong! Recently some scientist — and would you believe it, a man — went and pretty much manufactured sperm in a laboratory. Yes, our worst fear has finally come true. We men have lost all relevance in the genetic pool. The last straw of dignity and pride that we were desperately clutching on to has been mercilessly snatched, and now we are in free fall.

And I can’t think of anything that can rescue us. Women have no reason to retain us or even regenerate us in the new test tubes. So the next time Virgin Galactic announces seats to the next space station, make sure you have saved up for it — it could be your only chance at survival.

The writer is a lover of wine, song and everything fine