Of course these shirts weren’t Primark shirts. Oh dear me, don’t be silly, no. The one from Next was fairly reasonably priced as far as shirts go. I mean I’d NEVER pay more than, say £35.00 for a shirt (if it was for a present I mean) so this was fine. But the second one, in a slightly different hue to the Next one…. Well, this was “a treat”, he explained, beaming in the Posh Gentleman’s Outfitters. “I think I deserve a shirt like this, it’s not every day I get to splash out on myself and I think I work hard enough…” Actually perhaps beaming is pushing it a bit. He’d turned into a double-glazing/Life Insurance Salesman. He was trowelling it on. He’s good at that – when he wants something and he knows I’m not keen. He knows which buttons to press.
And a Guilt Button is always a good one to press where a woman is concerned. After all, aren’t we born Guilty, women? It’s bound to have something to do with Eve. Everything comes back to her eventually. If we can’t find another way of explaining a woman’s actions, then Eve holds the Guilt out of Jail Free card.
So the “I deserve it/I work bloody hard” spin wasn’t a new one on me. I’ve heard it countless times and to be honest it’s getting a bit boring now. Let’s just say I haven’t perfected the imperceptible eye-roll just yet but I’m getting there. One day. Actually one day he won’t care if I deliberately eye-roll him in front of an audience of millions. Married couples get like that – I’ve seen it.
So he does the whole “I’m such a hard grafter, I deserve such luxuries” spin. And immediately after my Eve-in-denial cleverly-concealed eye-roll, I feel my stomach clench, then I get a kick of indignance at what I think he’s implying (i.e. that I DON’T work hard therefore I DON’T deserve luxuries) and then my heart does it’s usual flump and I think ‘oh, let him have it. It’s just easier to let him have his own bloody way – again’. Easier than trying to explain to him that he’s managed to hit the Guilt button again. Especially in public. So I smile, I nod and he’s happy because he thinks I’m happy. For him.
Then he further cements his deservedness by going into John Lewis and buying THE most expensive pair of man shoes I’ve ever watched anybody buy. Okay, so they’re just short of a hundred pounds, but still, a hundred quid for a pair of blokes shoes? Excuse me?
See that lady standing beside him? She spent about four months looking for the ‘right’ dress to wear for the same occasion. She scoured shops the length and breadth of… well the county… but still. And when she eventually found it, BUT then happened upon it in a different shop a week later with a price tag showing £100 LESS, she (after she’d picked herself up off the floor in a very cold sweat) asked the nice assistants to hold the reduced dress for her in shop 2, drove 30 miles to shop 1 to return the original dress and then back the 30 miles to buy the cheaper one. Sensible? I think so. Husband’s reaction? “You probably spent that much in petrol going to and from both shops.” Hmm, there’s probably a very good reason he’s not Chancellor of the Exchequer.
And my shoes? Ha – I’d like to see the Sex and the City Girls peeing their pants at this one, but mine cost a lovely £12.99 from TK Maxx. And they’re soft and leather and comfortable, and I’ve worn them a damned sight more than the Hubs has worn his million-pound bloody pair, that’s all I can say!
PMS? Nope, don’t think so. I’m always this grouchy these days.