‘We should be honest with each other’ she said. ‘Over everything’ she said.
This of course, is a blatant lie. Or rather it’s a trap. She doesn’t want honesty, she just wants to know what I’m up to so that she can maintain the relationship high ground whilst at the same time gathering increasing amounts of weaponry with which to beat me back into place whenever the need arises.
It’s a trap I fell into in spectacular style this evening.
With her psycho brothers wedding fast approaching and the search for a suitable dress having taken me to the edge of madness, I returned home to find yet more packages on the bed from the never ending stream of online retailers who have no doubt made millions from the exploitation and suffering of saps like me.
However, among their number was a dress that she actually liked. So much so in fact, that she actually put it on. And to be fair, it didn’t look hard bad. Nice cleavage, shapely arse…. there was just one minor issue.
At this point my inbuilt diplomacy gene stepped in and I stated my approval and told her that she looked awesome. She smiled, I smiled, job jobbed. Or so I thought. Because even as my mind was turning to dinner, she opened the dreaded trap door.
‘What about my tummy?’ she said. Pointing at the bulge around her midriff which, to be fair, was the flaw which had previously caught my attention. It wasn’t that it was big (it isn’t) it’s just that it was, well, there.
Now to be fair, in any normal circumstance a response of ‘it’ll be fine, just wear some big pants’ would be a perfectly reasonable one and more importantly, it fell firmly within the ‘honesty’ criteria she has insisted on from day one. But as her face crumbled and then hardened into that all too familiar hate-fuelled glare, it rapidly became clear that on this occasion she hadn’t wanted honesty. She’d wanted a lie dressed up as flattery. A fact underlined in thick black pen when she told me that she already had some on.
So now, through no fault of my own, not only am I in the proverbial doghouse and facing a weekend traipsing around the hell that is Bluewater for my trouble, but I have to face it all in the knowledge that the only way I could redress the wrong she had dragged me into was to tell her that I’d pay whatever it takes for the right dress. Something I suspect, was a part of the plan all along.
Women, devious bastards all of them.
This blog is based on the best-selling novel, Billy’s Log, which can be downloaded from Amazon by clicking here!
Sequel is on the way!