Women who Light Fires under Men's Backsides.

I have no idea why certain things thrill me.
 One of the things I find most thrilling and more interesting than most is when I meet a woman who understands her power, because she has a brimming, bursting-at-the-seams sense of self confidence, hates nonsense (especially when this nonsense is committed by men). I hate it to the core when a man abuses a woman and she lets him, because whatever emotion inside her tells her that what she feels for this man is something called love, and so she stays and continues to be abused.
 I detest violence in any form, because I believe in most cases of murder, vengeance killing or infliction of serious injury, there is often more than sufficient time to walk away.
What inspired this article I write today is something I witnessed while in Suriname attending Carifesta X1. The leaders of contingents were invited to sit in the VIP Lounge with the President of Suriname and other dignitaries for the closing ceremony of Carifesta.
There were two large television screens. Security officers stood at every entrance point, all officially clad in black suits, eyes shrouded in black glasses, faces grim, as somebody (perhaps in ancient security history) must have told security personnel that they are supposed to look.
On the left of where I sat,  four or five security officers stood facing away from the specially seated guests. They all blocked one of the large screens on which  the displays were made accessible to the view of those furthest from the stage.
One of the invitees summoned a female chaperon, and suggested that she request the security men to avoid blocking the view of the guests on the left side of the seating. The young chaperon gently approached and informant the man, that they were blocking the view of  the people, and to kindly assist by going further down the stairs away from the platform, and closer to ground level. The men looked at her. Only one of the men adjusted his position.
 Approximately an half hour went by. The view remained obstructed by these men.
 Another female chaperon was seen approaching the men. Her movement was swift, her strides solid and firm.
 I watched as her body swayed, her hands gestured with her telling, and her mouth  blasting the kingdom-come of  common sense into the ears of these five, black-clothed, dark-shaded men who looked at her as though she had opened the fire and brimstone pits of hell, and blasts of flaming coals were raining down on their heard.
 They moved further down the steps and never resumed their blocking positions for the duration of the ceremony.
 They say behind every successful man there is a good woman. Although I don't share the behind positioning placement of any good woman, I would adjust that statement to say: in the life of every successful man there is usually a good woman lighting a fire at his behind.