Attention all women …
I am not a mind reader and don’t know what you are thinking. Please tell me what you want me to do.
I know that I always moan about romantic comedies. The romance is unrealistic and they are not funny, ergo they shouldn’t be called “romantic comedies”.
I don’t want to know why Sandra is upset. I don’t care that Sandra’s husband, Bill, is always in a bad mood. He’s probably in a bad mood because Sandra was telling Bill about Tabitha’s problems with her husband, Clive, while he was trying to watch the football. Bill has never met Tabitha or Clive. Bill probably never will meet Tabitha or Clive. I have never met Sandra, Bill, Tabitha or Clive and I probably never will. And the football is on.
Talking of which – football is important, certainly more important than Sandra’s woes.
Man flu exists. It has been proven that men suffer more than women. Here is proof from a FEMALE neuroscientist.
Your hair looks wonderful. It always looks wonderful. Stop asking me how your hair looks.
I love your eyebrows. I will always love your eyebrows. Stop asking me about them.
I will buy you flowers, just not on Valentine’s Day because the price trebles.
I do not need to use products on my hair.
The phone call was from Fred. Yes, I know we chatted for five minutes but he didn’t tell me his life story so I can’t tell you.
Yes, I know I can be immature.
Please don’t take me shopping. I can’t bear standing in the lingerie department again while you try on your fourteenth different dress in three different sizes and then reject all of them.
I still think that the Twilight saga was rubbish and I always will think that it is rubbish.
You look beautiful. You are beautiful. You are always beautiful. Stop asking me if you look good.
I am asking you where my gloves are because they are not in the place where I put them. I put them there so that I would know where they are. They are not there now. You must have moved them. That’s why I am asking you where they are.
I don’t need an hour to get ready to go out. Please let me finish my video game; we have another hour before the taxi arrives.
I’ll take the small suitcase. Yes I can fit all the clothes I need for a week in it.
I love you. I will always love you. I tell you all the time. Stop asking me if I love you.
I would rather extract all of my teeth with a hammer than go with you to see One Direction. It would be less painful.
I’ve just redecorated the entire house on my own. Stop shouting at me because I didn’t do the washing up.
I will take you out for a meal, just not on Valentine’s Day because on that day the restaurant will be full of blokes who don’t want to be there, each having a “romantic set meal for two” that is half the size of the usual meals and three times the normal price. Heart-shaped food and millions of tiny little heart-shaped bits of glitter don’t justify the extra cost.
No, I don’t know what the difference is between day cream and night cream. Nor do I want to know.
No, your “bum does not look big in this”.
Please explain to me what is going on in your head.
Why am I in trouble again? I don’t know what I’ve done. I can’t read your mind.
No, I don’t remember what I did on 5th April 1999. And how is it relevant to the current argument?
Bring me a beer and we can resolve all of our differences.
Please take note of the above.
I can’t help it!
I’m a man!
Just remember this quote:
Women spend more time thinking about what men think than men actually spend thinking.