From stalking our exes to hating every woman we're friends with on Facebook and asking questions so loaded that we need a Kevlar vest to answer them...
A few weeks ago Daisy Buchanan highlighted some Men’s ineptitude when approaching the opposite sex in a brilliant article called ‘5 Ways To Approach Women Without Coming Across Like A Perv.’ I would like to offer an insight into a few complaints Blokes have regarding their Girlfriends behaviour once the early courtship is over…
We’ve all done it, fancied someone, then flirted and charmed and eventually the cat and mouse pays off and you get the Lady, or Gent, you were chasing. For the first few weeks it’s double-lick-a-dee-split with syrup and hundreds and thousands. A carnival of cocktails and doinking. Then once the initial zeal subsides you sober up and there is the true getting-to-know-ya period. This involves nights in exploring each others intellect and taste while accepting the reality that each of you produces dirty laundry. During this time you will decide you’ve got something worthwhile or agree to call it off, no hard feelings, an’ all that. Hopefully when you sum it up commitment is mutually expressed and you curl around each other into a smug nights sleep. But, from a man’s perspective, this can sometimes be when it goes horribly wrong. In some cases declaring yourself to your sophisticated, gorgeous, level-headed girlfriend can lead her to believe she has license to turn into a jealous, possessive envious, obsessive, neurotic, impossible lunatic. Canvassed below are are 5 ‘not uncommon’ scenarios….
‘You better not have had a life before me…’
Your girlfriend befriends, or is maybe already friends with, a few of your friends and they occasionally chat between them when you’re all out together. Your girlfriend surreptitiously harvests details of your previous girlfriend. Blokes can’t win with this one: If your adjacent relationship was with a morbidly obese, schizo, bozz-eyed Yoda look-a-like with personal hygiene problems your current squeeze will think that you’ve punched way above your weight by wooing her after 2 years with a troll, and that she’s too good for you and her attitude may turn annoyingly cocky. Alternatively if she finds out that your ex is a Swedish Goddess, six feet tall before she puts on her Manolos (bought with her wages from being a personal lawyer to George Clooney) and has just had a book published on the origins of Bikram Yoga you will suffer a tornado of envy, insecurity and jealousy and may be asked to destroy anything you so much as considered purchasing during your time with her. And you will never, ever, hear the last of it.
She’s rummaged through your Facebook friends and she doesn’t approve. You decide against honestly explaining that Abby has, for many years, been a good laugh platonic friend
‘How come you’ve got so many female friends?’
After three days of sulking and abruptly ended phone calls you invite her round for dinner and let her know that it’s with the sole intention of being supportive and resolving whatever the issue may be. She’s through the door less than a minute when she slams her handbag to the deck and screams “WHO THE FUCK IS ABBY MEADEN, WHY DOES SHE STICK A FUCKING ‘LIKE’ ON EVERY SHIT JOKE YOU PUT IN YOUR FACEBOOK STATUS AND HOW COME YOU KNOW 3 GIRLS ALL CALLED CANDY?!”
….You’ve got straight to the seed of the silent treatment. She’s rummaged through your Facebook friends and she doesn’t approve. You decide against honestly explaining that Abby has, for many years, been a good laugh platonic friend, but when you first met you had a solitary drunken kiss at bus stop, cos given her anger, as do that, you might as well pull your own bollocks off. So you plump for the yarn that she’s an old colleague, a retarded Halitosis sufferer who’s face caught fire when she was a baby and her Father put it out with a shovel and she’s 5 years into a civil partnership with Mo Mowlam’s identical twin sister. You’ve maybe overdone it, but Phew…Abby down, three Candy’s to go.
Then it dawns on you that you also have three females on your friends list that are all called Julie, with whom she has no concern, after another 10 minutes of advocacy her palpable fury collapses into embarrassment at her immaturity as she admits that this is because Julie is not a pseudonym commonly used by strippers.
‘Does my bum look small in this?’
There are women so insecure when in a relationship that they will find fault in themselves no matter how much you bolster them, and unfortunately the self-criticisms they concoct change depending on how they perceive your taste. Read a magazine article about Kathy Burke with a little bit too much interest and they think they’re not characterful enough. Whistle along to a Lily Allen song and they think you prefer Brunettes with ample Hips. Next thing they’re buying hair dye and trying to put weight on, and at the next argument you will be informed that it’s all because of you. Jesus Louisus it’s a tightrope. Eventually you will be reluctant to have an opinion on anything other than the crunchiness of Crisps, then you may be accused of being uncommunicative.
Whistle along to a Lily Allen song and they think you prefer Brunettes with ample Hips. Next thing they’re buying hair dye and trying to put weight on
‘You can come inside me’
So your relationship is well into a couple of months, at regular intervals she, employing all the subtlety of Johnny Vegas after three days on Stella, asks you if you’d (eventually) like to have kids. Your honest and much repeated answer is probably that you would, when the time’s right and it’s been thoroughly discussed with your decided life partner. It’s blatant that she’s already pressed the snooze button on her Body Clock a couple of times before she’d met you. Then one afternoon you drop by her office after receiving a couple too many horny texts. She’s the one who rips the hole in the crutch of her tights for a change and proceeds to shag you like a demented Bonobo in the Stationary cupboard. All good. But just as you get to the Filthy-Wham-Whams you hear her gasp “Come inside me….come inside me.”
Despite being painfully close to gurning out your finest ‘splash-face’ it runs through your mind that there was, according to her blister pack of contraceptive pills you saw in her make-up bag last night, a Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday sized gap in her intake, and she was getting a little bit too gushy over your Nephew at his christening the other week. (***Ladies- word of warning- if your man has one brain cell more than an Amoeba manufacturing ‘accidents’ like this is at least a yellow card offence. For many it’s a Red card***) A few months after the break up she will either be desperately serving up her Scrambled Eggs to the next fella she meets or you will see her walking her new Puppy, which answers to a peculiarly Human name, on her local park. In seriously demented cases you will see her pushing it in a pram.
‘It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind’
Yes this is wholly correct. It’s also a mans prerogative to call off a relationship if his girlfriend is permanently and tediously indecisive.
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