As a Japanese woman, I've always had this niggling suspicion that men had it better in my native land. They were encouraged and coddled and waited upon. They were allowed liberties that a female could only dream about. They considered entitlement a prerequisite, a birthright!

Believe me, I know. I grew up in a crowded, male-dominated household where men outnumbered women three to one, which meant that the towels were always wet and stank of bukatsu (部活, extracurricular activities) sweat, the fridge was perpetually empty of goodies and the trash bins overflowed with empty plastic bottles of Pocari Sweat — and later empty cans of Asahi Super Dry.

My father and brothers had extra portions and bigger servings of everything, and they still fought over the last, limp ebifurai (海老フライ, fried shrimp) on the serving plate as if they had just returned from a long trek in the Sahara. Any attempt at rebellion was quelled with "Onna wa damattero (女は黙ってろ, Women should just shut up)." This was inevitably followed by that all-too-familiar Japanese male line: "Otoko wa iroiro taihennanda (男はいろいろ大変なんだ, Things are tough for men)."