The Look

I love The Walking Dead and so does Mrs PM. We were watching the exciting and disturbing climax of series six on Monday night and when it finished, my beloved said:

“What are we going to do without The Walking Dead?”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “There’s a spin off starting next week.”

“Really?” she said, looking very excited.

“Yes,” I continued. “It looks at the issue from another angle. Have you seen the Hitchcock film called The Birds?”

“Yes,” she said.

I now had her full attention.

“Well, it’s a variation on that theme. Instead of people dying and coming back to life, the problem is all about birds. It’s a post-apocalyptic drama about people dealing with Zombie birds.”

“Wow,” she said.

“It starts next week. It’s called The Squawking Dead!”

“OH PULEEEEAASEEE!” she shouted.

I started laughing as, once again, I had proved that there is no such thing as a lying face and a lying voice, the apparent features she uses to detect whether I am fibbing to her. It’s a rare thing to catch her out and when I do, I don’t let her forget it (see here for more examples where I have failed misreably).

“There is no such thing as a lying voice or a lying face,” I declared triumphantly.

And then she responded with The Look!

Most men know what The Look is. It is the expression on a woman’s face that tells her man, without words I might add, that he has stepped over the line and has lost so many Brownie Points that he is bankrupt.

The Look has several intensities depending on the nature and seriousness of the crime committed. On a scale of 1 to 10, this was about a 2 out of 10 – mild irritation. Mrs PM was disappointed that The Walking Dead had finished and irritated at the fact that I had exploited her momentary weakness and struck a comedy blow.

Really, she was pissed off because I had caught her totally unawares!

In case you don't know what I am talking about, here are some stock images of The Look!

2 out of 10 - You might just escape unscathed

4 out of 10 - Be warned

6 out of 10 - Now you are in trouble!

8 out of 10 - Lock yourself in the cupboard and pray

10 out of 10 - Run for the hills 

I have never achieved a 10 out of 10 (or at least I don’t think so).To be honest if I were to reach that lofty pinnacle, I would probably be out of the house and down the road when the eruption took place.

Sometimes, I see The Look in other women, particularly in social situations, when their oblivious husbands/partners have overstepped their bounds. Usually this involves showing off, saying something that was meant to be kept a secret or basically being an arse in front of her and friends, resulting in, in her eyes, ritual humiliation.

It’s quite funny, really, because the man will continue acting the dick, or mouthing off and she will smile as if she is enjoying his antics. He will be oblivious to her feelings and continue to entertain his friends. She will smile – but not with her eyes. 

And then, she will wait until there is a lull and her beloved man looks at her. That is when she will strike with The Look and he will immediately know that he is in trouble.

I’ve seen it many times and it can go one of two ways.

If he notices The Look, he will stop abruptly and change the subject and spend the rest of the evening trying to rectify the situation, cuddling his woman, telling people openly how much he loves her etc. etc. 

It won’t work. 

Women have long deep memories and the moment she gets him on his own he will feel the full force of her wrath. The 4 out of 10 look of annoyance will escalate, potentially, to a 6 out of 10 look – if he’s lucky.

Worse, if he fails to notice The Look and continues down to the next level of Hell, then woe betide him when they get home. 

I have seen both situations.

Worse, I have BEEN in both situations. 

In my defence, I thought I was being clever and funny – when in reality I was almost certainly being a dick.

However, there is one situation that all men struggle with. And I will bet that it has happened to each and every male reader with a significant other (don’t deny it, guys! You know I am telling the truth). The situation to which I refer is when you arrive home and get The Look as soon as you see your lovely lady.

This is the worst situation of all. At least when you are a dick in front of your friends, you have an idea about why you are in trouble - and you have no idea why! 

You may try to delay the inevitable by saying “Hi beautiful” or another similarly shallow attempt at making things right. You may panic, walk straight out of the door and run to the nearest pub to get drunk.  At least when the inevitable tempest occurs, you will have an idea about what you did wrong.

“What have I done now?” is the usual response but that won’t help either. 

Women are irrational beings and will say:

“Well if you don’t know, I am not going to tell you,” and then walk away leaving the environment in the house frostier than a snowman’s underpants.

Thankfully, Mrs PM is the kind of woman who wears her heart on her sleeve and she will tell me in no uncertain terms the exact reason why I am a dick and what I did to incur her wrath. Mostly, it will be something insignificant and through an insincere cloud of apology I will do my best to rectify the situation even if I am deeply puzzled about why I am in the wrong.

Tact is my middle name – at least until Mrs PM reads this post.

By the way, I also tried to crack the same joke about The Walking Dead to my eldest lad.

Before I had even begun to describe The Squawking Dead he simply said:

“This is going to be a crap joke, isn’t it?”

Maybe that says something about the difference between men and women.

What Women Want

I don’t read women’s magazines. I need to state that at the beginning of this post.

Occasionally, however, Mrs PM does buy such magazines and leaves them within reach (perhaps on purpose).

Regular readers will know that I simply do not understand women, but strive to do so. And in order to research what makes women tick, I sometimes take the bait and pick up one of Mrs PM’s magazines to see if I can get inside the female brain in my quest to discover the key to the secret.

On Sunday I picked up such a magazine and found an article that made me laugh.

It was entitled: The Good Husband Guide and it listed 10 things that men have supposedly learnt to keep their women happy. I thought it would be a bit of fun for me to comment on each and every point – from a male perspective.

Feel fancied

According to the author, women want their husbands to fancy them. Even though they may feel under the weather, bloated, bad time of the month etc., apparently nothing makes a woman more happy then the knowledge that her man is like a coiled spring, fighting a constant battle with himself not to tear his clothes off and ravage her because she is so utterly attractive.

While this may be something that can keep a woman happy, the phrase “No – I’m too tired” or “No – I’m not in the mood” or “Put your clothes back on, you arse; my mum’s coming round in 10 minutes” do make a man feel rather inadequate.

Talking Is Important

This highlights for me one of the main differences between men and women. Women love to talk, to analyse every nuance, every small piece of information available, every scrap of insignificant news and every aspect of every feeling that is going around inside a man’s brain.

Men don’t talk. Men don’t like talking.

To a man, such conversations are pointless.

If you want a man to have a decent conversation, try talking about sport, cars or books – and not about why Susan’s been feeling low this week.

Never criticise

When shopping with Mrs PM, she sweeps out of the changing room with a new dress and says “What do you think? I want you to be brutally honest!” 

I am under pressure because there are other women present and watching with interest as well as other men, also suffering from my predicament, who are chuckling inside knowing that there is no correct answer to the question.

It is like being asked: “Do you want me to stab you in the chest or shoot you in the nether regions?”

Each answer involves extreme pain.

I trust Mrs PM and have foolishly been brutally honest:

“It makes you look like an old woman. It is more like a sack than a dress. You are in your early 40’s not early 60’s. Put it back.”

The fact that I am still here today typing this is due to the fact that I can run faster than Mrs PM and I have threatened to sell the cats to our local Cruella De Ville if she hurts me in any way.

Don’t back us into a corner

The question in the previous list item is a superb example of women backing men into a corner. Why shouldn’t we do it back?

The author’s point here is that men shouldn’t be flippant over serious issues. I use humour to dissolve tense situations generally but apparently I should stop doing this. And under no circumstances should I say something like “Calm down. It was only a vase!”

That is a sure fire way to pain.

Don’t be a total pushover

Men should fight back and not let women completely dominate them – at least that is what the author is saying.

To me, this seems a difficult thing to achieve, particularly since women are unpredictable – at least that’s what I think (yes – I am that stupid). Mrs PM is very sure of herself and extremely confident. I, on the other hand, am a stubborn, grumpy old git and for the past 20 years or so I have never let anybody push me around.

I think Mrs PM knows how far she can push before I get my soapbox out. The prize of getting her own way sometimes comes at too high a price, particularly when I mutate into a ranting leviathan.

Some things are just not worth it.

If you can’t be romantic, don’t be unromantic

What is it with women and romance? I am romantic but my definition of romance simply does not match the definition of the word in a woman’s dictionary. If Mrs PM wants some romance in the middle of the big game on TV – what should I do? Should I switch off the TV, put on some romantic music and cuddle her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear?

I don’t want to appear selfish but there is a time and a place for everything.

Romance, in my view, is fine, but when the urge for such activities clashes with man stuff – we need a bit of give and take.

Balance is the key ... except some women don’t always see it that way.

Have the same attitude to money as we do

Excuse me but no. I am very careful with money and even though I occasionally go out and buy a gadget, I don’t own more than four pairs of shoes, have a wardrobe full of clothes that I will only wear once, or a room full of cuddly toys that are “too cute to resist so I had to buy them all”.

I will spend money on Mrs PM – but I won’t break the bank. That would be stupid. Thankfully, Mrs PM is also fairly sensible with money.

Be prepared to play the “Daddy” role

What? WHAT?? WHAT?????? 

When I first read this I thought the author was a pervert – but it means that women expect men to take control when it suits them.

This is a bit rich. What it means really is that women want to be in control – until they say we can have a bit of power.

It’s like saying “I have your spine – you can borrow it to sort out the mortgage – and then I want it back - IMMEDIATELY.”

Again – balance is the key.

I am in charge of my relationship with Mrs PM – as long as she says I can be.

Be the sort of bloke who can shop in Ikea and watch the Twilight Movies

My punishment for dragging Mrs PM to see The Avengers earlier this year, is to accompany her to see the fifth and final Twilight film. I haven’t seen the fourth one yet – which means that I have to go the DVD rental shop, rent it out ON MY OWN, watch it ON MY OWN and then go to the pictures with her to see it.

I HATE the Twilight films. They make vampires look like fluffy declawed kittens that have had their teeth removed.

But I will do this because I am a man of my word – and there are a few other movies I want to inflict upon my beloved Mrs PM.

As for shopping at Ikea – FORGET IT!!

Be Reliable

My name is Plastic Reliable Mancunian. I will never ever let my beloved Mrs PM down. She knows that.

And that is all that counts.

Conclusion

What I found incredible about this article was that it appeared in a women’s magazine. Surely, if women want their men to change, to be more romantic, to be a reliable “daddy” who never criticises and gushes over toothless vampires while shopping at Ikea, surely the best thing to do would be to publish it in a men’s magazine between an article on the latest super car and the latest must have gadget.

Men might actually take notice.

Men's Problems - Women

I like to live dangerously and this is probably as dangerous as it gets. If I haven’t alienated the female members of the human race already, I certainly could do after this post.

I want to talk about women, yet again, but this time I want to discuss how the fair sex can be a problem to men. As much as we love them, they can be a major headache for us - sometimes.

As I have said before, I really struggle to get my head around the female sex, but I know that I am not alone. In fact, I will go further and say that no man alive really understands women. Any man who claims to is a fibber, and a big one at that.

I have moments of delusion when the antics of Mrs PM and other women appear to make perfect sense. When such moments occur, I celebrate and say to myself: at last, finally, I know what goes on in the female brain. My euphoria is usually short lived because Mrs PM stuns me by reacting totally different to expectation, crushing my jubilation to an embarrassing pulp.

But it’s worse than that because understanding women is not the only problem for men; it’s the whole female package. What do I mean by that? Allow me to elaborate.

Like most men, I love to admire a beautiful woman. I do so subconsciously, my eyes driven by a primeval force that I can’t control. Most men are the same.

Many years ago, when I was a young idiot, a female friend and I were chatting when the conversation drifted towards a mutual acquaintance.

“He’s a nice guy,” she said, “but he is a total letch.”

“A letch?” I asked. “What do you mean? What’s a letch?”

“Well when he’s talking to me, he doesn’t look at my face.”

Puzzled (and stupid) I probed further.

“That’s a bit rude isn’t it? Or maybe he’s just shy. I’m a bit like that – I tend to look away sometimes when talking to people.”

“Oh he’s definitely NOT shy,” she said. “When he talks to me, he just stares at my boobs.”

“Ah!” I stuttered.

And my eyes were suddenly drawn to her boobs. I couldn’t help myself; I was a young testosterone-fuelled male, listening to a female complaining about a man who stared at her like she was an object of lust – and I was doing exactly the same. I tried to force my eyes upwards to her face but all I could focus on was her cleavage. It was as if I had two devils sitting on my shoulders.

“Cop an eyeful of those,” growled the demon.

“Look at her face; she will despise you,” said the angel.

In my defence, I couldn’t help myself. Any heterosexual man who claims that he doesn’t stare at attractive women is an absolute liar. That’s a bold statement but I consider it to be absolutely true.

In my youth, I would walk down the street analysing every single women who walked past me, eyeing each one up and down; her hair, her face, her boobs, her figure, her legs, her overall shape and imagining how wonderful it would be to be walking next to this attractive creature with my arm around her waist, smelling her wonderful perfume. My imagination sometimes ran amok.

Even though I was in a relationship, I simply couldn’t help myself. Having listened to my female friend complaining about lechers, I became self-conscious and forced myself not to stare. But sometimes (most times if I am perfectly honest) I failed spectacularly. When confronted by a hideously ugly bloke with his tongue dragging on the floor, leering like a starving bulldog leaving a trail of dribble behind like a monstrous slug, most women simply looked away. Others glared with venom in their eyes and violence in their thoughts.

Nowadays, of course, I don’t look like some manic sexually charged animal; however, I still appreciate a beautiful woman and although I am in my mid-forties I find myself occasionally appreciating the beauty of women in their twenties. It can be embarrassing though if my eyes rebel and drift up and down their bodies as they are talking to me. I try my best to look into their eyes – but that too can get me into trouble. The only thing that has changed since my youthful days is that I still find many women in their forties gorgeous as well.

You will often hear the old adage that says that men think about sex approximately every seven seconds. This is utter bilge; when I was young I never ever stopped thinking about sex; every young woman I met was a potential conquest. It was just a pity that I didn’t have the means to win those battles. If a woman were to somehow manage to get past my ape-like features, my “witty banter” poured forth like a wave of demented twaddle. I didn’t know how to talk to women so how could I make one love me?

Of course, as you have probably gathered, I managed to find myself a woman crazy enough to put up with me (something else I have never understood). Once I had overcome that barrier I was delighted. Something slotted into place within and I became a different person.

Thus, I moved from being an idiotic sex-crazed baboon to being a contented young man happy to settle down with a woman who loved me; and a new challenge arose and slapped me across the face.

Living with a woman is a massively rewarding experience and I wouldn’t change many things. I would however give anything to solve the particular problems that the experience of living together creates. They are not massive problems by any means but I do feel powerless to react. I’m an educated person who loves to solve problems; but I am frustrated because the solutions to these particular conundrums elude me.

Here are a few examples:

Why does a woman dress to impress other women instead of other men? I discovered this disturbing trait fairly recently. We were going out with a couple of friends and all of the women complemented each other on how they were dressed. Mrs PM had changed her clothes several times before going out and each time I said “You look gorgeous. What’s the problem?”

She confessed that she had to look better than her friends – or at least as good as them. As a man this was a completely alien concept to me. I would have gone out in jeans and a T-shirt if I could have done and I wouldn’t have cared one jot what my mates thought about my attire. Yet she, and all the other women were desperate to impress each other and not the guys who were there.

Why do two men chat to each other on the phone for about twenty seconds and women for about twenty hours?

Why does Mrs PM hide clothes that she doesn’t want me to wear? Mrs PM feels a desperate urge to approve any clothes that I buy. If, for some reason, I manage to escape to a clothes shop without her being present, and then buy something she hasn’t vetted, I can guarantee that if she doesn’t like it, she will remove it from my wardrobe and hide it somewhere. And she will lie to me as well.

Me: “What do you think of this shirt?”

Mrs PM (through gritted teeth):”It’s … erm … nice. Why did you buy it?”

Me: “I like it. Why do you ask?”

Mrs PM: “Erm no reason”

A week later you can guarantee it has gone missing.

Me: “Where’s that yellow shirt I bought last week?”

Mrs PM: “What yellow shirt?”

Me: “The one I bought last week that you said was nice.”

Mrs PM: “Yellow doesn’t suit you. Put on the blue shirt.”

Me:”You’ve hidden it haven’t you?”

Mrs PM: “No!” …”Yes! I hate it! It makes you look like an anaemic window dummy!”

Another bone of contention is doing stuff around the house. I’ve learned that little things really matter. For example, if a man spends the whole day decorating the room, he can suffer because he has only done one thing. Why for example, didn’t he do the washing up? This particular problem may not be true of all women, but I do know that if on a Saturday, I get up and spend two hours hoovering , cleaning the kitchen and loading the dishwasher, Mrs PM will be happier than if I spend three hours washing the cars. Why? Because I have completed three tasks instead of just the one.

I’m sure that not all women are like this but some, like Mrs PM, definitely are.

What about when you say the wrong thing? Mrs PM and I don’t argue very much at all but when we do it is usually because I have somehow put my foot in it by saying something I think is perfectly reasonable and totally truthful, yet somehow it pushes the anger button within Mrs PM’s psyche. The end result is that I am berated for something I simply do not understand; when I protest my innocence it is like trying to put out a fire with a nuclear warhead. The snowball effect has nothing on these arguments.

I’ve learned to shut up and let Mrs PM burn herself out. And then, most of the time, I can repair the damage with a bunch of flowers, a box of chocolates or a cuddly toy.

See what I mean? Women can sometimes be so illogical that they give men an horrific headache.

Regular readers will probably be thinking:

“For heaven’s sake, Plastic Moron! Women aren’t that difficult to understand. Are you completely deranged? Are you just stupid? Will you please stop going on about women?”

To those people I say this:

I may be stupid but I need to understand women. The theme of this post implies that women are a problem for men. They are definitely not – not really - well sometimes.

What I am trying to do is to draw your attention, dear female reader, to the fact that we simply do not understand you and, that you simply do not understand us back.

We stare and gawp at gorgeous women because we love looking at the beautiful female form. Although some of us may be lechers, the majority are not but are driven by a primeval urge. Our goals are different from yours.

When we live with women, they think that we are lazy good-for-nothing emotionless imbeciles with no compassion who simply want to drink or watch and play sports. There is some truth in that but again we can’t help it. While a bunch of flowers or a box of chocolates will make ladies happy, just letting a man go to the toilet with a newspaper for ten minutes will make him happy. While you want to spend three hours on the phone chatting to your best friend about emotional issues, we are quite happy to get a mate round and watch the big game with several cans of beer and testosterone-fuelled aggression.

When your man screams during a football match because his team have just conceded a goal, don’t scold him because he has spilled beer on the floor. Embrace him and make him feel better. Don’t ask stupid questions like “which team is winning?” or “who’s playing?” or “what a good goal that was. Was that your team?”

When your man hoovers the house, don’t scold him for not loading the dishwasher and filling the washing machine. He will do it next time if you thank him.

When a man stares at you in the street, it is because you are beautiful, not because he is a lecherous drooling baboon (even if I am – I can’t help it).

We should embrace our differences and try to understand each other.

If any women are annoyed by this post, please understand that this is not my intention. I adore women and I respect them with all my heart. Women are beautiful, kind, intelligent creatures and I love you all to bits. I have also ignored something a friend of mine once said:

“All women, without exception, are mad.”

He simply has bigger problems than me understanding the fairer sex. Don’t be too hard on him – he is a goon. That sentiment certainly does not exist on this blog (although it may seem the case sometimes).

I’m off now to watch the big game. I will require the following items:

A TV and a can of beer and a lot of patience (for when Mrs PM comes in and asks me why I didn’t dust when I hoovered earlier today).

Men's Problems - Baldness

If I allow my hair to grow unchecked it will become a marauding mass of mayhem.

Suffice it to say that I will probably never grow bald, unless I suddenly become possessed by the same urge as Britney Spears and decide to shave my mop clean off.

I can be blasé about my hair but there are many men out there who are envious of the potential forest that can grow on my head.

“How can that be?” I hear you cry. “How can any man be jealous of your wild and untamed hair? Haven’t they read Bad Hair Day?”

These men are envious because they are fighting a losing battle against Mother Nature. In her infinite wisdom she has deemed that certain men will lose their hair – and they don’t like it one little bit. Some of these guys accept Mother Nature’s judgement; others fight back.

A few years ago, I was sitting in a barber’s chair with my glasses off, staring at a blurred unkempt mess of dark blond hair, waiting to be trimmed. The man who was going to fight my mop stood behind me and said

“What do you want me to do with this mess?”

“Can you attack it with scissors around the back and sides and then bring out the big guns and thin out and hack the explosive mane on top please?”

“I’ll do my best,” came the resigned reply.

As he set about the task at hand, I started to moan:

“I hate my hair. I bloody well hate it. Every morning I wake up and stare in the mirror in utter horror. It’s all over the place and can only be tamed with copious amounts of water and a bucketful of patience. Did you know that my missus is trying to make me use products to control it? I ask you – PRODUCTS!!! Can you imagine the amount of bloody styling mousse or wax that I would have to rub into the forest of hair perched on my bonce to contain it even slightly? I’d need to take out a second mortgage and have it delivered in a tanker. I wish my hair was less of a bloody mess”

He stopped cutting.

I assumed that he was laughing at my quips.

He wasn’t.

As I stared at his blurred image in the mirror, something dawned on me. I could see the reflection of light in his head. He was almost totally bald.

“Stop bloody moaning about your hair,” he snarled. “At least you have some.”

I gulped and decided to remain quiet as he finished the job. I’m sure he purposefully dug the scissors in my head a few times as he continued battling my hair. As he hacked and sawed I became paranoid, thinking that he might just shave off my locks out of spite. Thankfully, he was professional and when he had finished, I put on my glasses and stared at my now tame (and still intact) hair.

“That’s fantastic,” I said smiling.

“GRRRR!!!” he snarled.

Actually, the barber’s hair didn’t seem too bad to me. He was in his forties and had black hair at the sides and back but he was completely bald on top. His shiny pate was totally hairless and the lights really did reflect off his head. I almost put my foot in my mouth and remarked on this but I decided that I wanted to leave his establishment alive and with my new haircut intact. I remained tight-lipped. I haven’t been back since.

Men who are going bald or receding, deal with their problem in one of the following ways:

(1) Allow nature to take its course and stay bald, making sure that any hair left is short and complements the baldness. A prime example of this type of man is Patrick Stewart, otherwise known as Captain Jean-Luc Picard from Start Trek. If I were going bald, this is the man I would emulate.

(2) Shave all of your remaining hair off. From a personal point of view, I would look stupid with absolutely no hair. There are certain people, mostly black guys, who look magnificent with bald heads – it suits them absolutely. If I had no hair, I would look like a wrinkled thumb with a face.

(3) Grow the remaining hair really long and try to cover the baldness. Now this isn’t that much of a problem if the bald spot is on the crown rather than the front of the head. The problem arises when the hair doesn’t cover the bald spot and drifts off to the side or, far worse, the hapless and desperate man grows his hair long at the side of his head and combs it over the bald spot. Not only does it look ridiculous normally, it takes on a whole new life of its own on a windy day, making the man look utterly stupid. This is the kind of thing I mean:

(4) Spray on hair or hair thickener. This stuff is meant to thicken your hair and cover bald spots. Having not seen any of this goo first hand, I can’t vouch for whether it works or not. I wonder whether it simply paints your bald spot and makes you look idiotic or whether it runs in the rain leaving a trail of black liquid running down your neck. Here's what I mean:

(5) Wear a wig. There are several well known celebrities in Britain and abroad who allegedly wear a wig. Personally I believe that wearing a wig is a very bad idea. I have often wondered how men get away with this. One day they leave work with a massive bald head and then return the next day with a full head of hair. I mean, who are they trying to fool? What’s worse is that every man I have ever seen wearing a wig looks exactly like a man wearing a bloody wig; it is that obvious to me.

(6) Have a hair transplant or hair replacement therapy. The Australian cricketer Shane Warne has had laser treatment to restore growth in his hair and, to be honest, the results look impressive. The only problem I guess is that such treatment does not come cheap.

I can guess that any bald or receding guys reading this may react in the same way as my (former) barber did. If I have upset you, allow me to make you feel a little better: here are two photos of me wearing ridiculous wigs and one of my hair as it is. See if you can spot which is which:







The correct answer is (of course) number three is my real hair - though I hasten to add that

(a) it had recently been cut

(b) if allowed to grow unchecked it would look more like the first of the three.