Posted by , 11 December 2008

13 things that women hate about you

13 things that women hate about you

13/ Your feet
What kind of genetic mutation made your toes grow in the shape of hammers, sprout hair and turn your nails yellow and flakey? Held together with veruccas, corns, bunions and weird patches of shiny heel skin? And don’t even mention the… Christ… is that… did you just shit an onion into your sock?

12/ Your drunk self
You know: the one who people are always starting arguments with, who farts all the time, talks too loudly on public transport and can’t get it up. The one you refer to as ‘the Party Dog’.

11/ Your willingness to eat the detritus of your body
Toenail clippings, the contents of your nostrils, the aftermath of a whitehead, that thing you thought was a tumour but actually turned out to be a bit of dry skin… ‘down the hatch’ it all goes. There are children in Darfurian refugee camps who are fussier eaters than you.

10/ Your love of wildlife documentaries
And still she hasn’t twigged that Lone Wolf Snow Cub’s Winter Diary is essentially an enormous metaphor for your entire life.

9/ Your knee-jerk defence of your own mum
And woe betide any woman who audaciously thinks she could have an equal claim on your affections. Your mum could sneak into your girlfriend’s place, smash all her stuff up, draw black magic symbols on the wall and secretly put her kid sister up for adoption… and you’d still find a way to side with ‘Her Mumness’.

8/ Your belief in farting as ‘the great punchline’
Particularly when deployed at family gatherings, solemn occasions of state, during one minute silences etc.

7/ That Russian bearskin hat you wear in the garden
A thought: maybe putting a shirt on would make it more palatable.

6/ Your utter refusal to do anything you don’t want to
Which wouldn’t matter so much if you just told her – rather than just filibustering her every weekend plan with your loveable mix of silence, grunts, newspaper rustling and non-committal half-promises. Like, “Oh right. Yeah… maybe we could go to that ‘Starving African Kids’ photo exhibition… I suppose… we’ll see…”

5/ Your guitar playing
Yeah! Crank up the axe in the spare room! Now stick it to The Man – with your rockin’ arpeggios, rhythm work and nimbly-executed solos. Or, as your lady hears it: the sonic excretions of a brain-damaged silverback grinding through an atonal sequence of chugging power chords, howls of feedback and shouts of self-encouragement. Before throwing your guitar at the roadie (a pile of pillows) and giving a double Macca thumbs-up to the laundry bin.

4/ Your pottering
Although, does she know that the alternative to you spending two hours alphabetising your record collection, arranging coat hangers and lining up tins of food is a good old-fashioned nervous breakdown? Does she think you like being mentally unhinged or something?

3/ The way you dance
Look! Her very own bleak, arrhythmic, mal-coordinated, child-elbowing window on what you’ll be like after 20 years of marriage.

2/ Your failure to be bothered by anything
“I screwed him and it wasn’t the first time. Don’t you care?” “I suppose.” “For God’s sake! I had sex with your brother.” “Oh. Does this mean Pizza Express is off tonight?”

1/ Your odd reluctance to show interest in her office’s politics
Well, why wouldn’t you want to hear about the web of Macchiavelian intrigue and eye-watering passive-aggression that ‘goes down’ behind the scenes at Evans’ head office? It’s like The West Wing, but with added XXXL dresses.

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