Dinner for Two by Mike Gayle Read Free Book Online Page B

remember when a group of us were at the pub when one of our friends (a woman) came in crying. She exchanged one glance with my better half, then disappeared to the toilets.
    ‘What was that about?’ I asked my good lady.
    ‘She’s split up with Tony, she’s just had an argument with her mum, her cat’s sick, she can’t make her mind up about a strappy floral print dress she saw in Kookaï . . . oh, and she hates her job.’
    ‘You got all that from one look?’ I asked.
    ‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’
    Okay, so that might be a slight exaggeration of what happened but it wasn’t far off. When the ATWT is used for the power of good it’s amazing, but when it’s used for the power of evil (i.e., against me) it’s truly scary.
    My first encounter with the ATWT came in my teenage years while I was hanging out in the park. I was minding my own business when a random girl appeared from nowhere, stood next to me, without saying a single word for half an hour, then disappeared. Next day at school I discovered that Melanie Chissock and I were now officially ‘going out’. How did this happen? The ATWT, that’s how. In her world, standing next to me was a declaration of love, while in my world it meant that she was either lost, bewildered or waiting for a bus. It was all very confusing.
    In the last fifteen years I’d like to think I’ve become more worldly wise, but when it comes to the ATWT I’m as hopeless as the teenage me. For example, I was at a party recently with the woman in my life. I’d chatted to a few people I didn’t know, had a bit of a dance and we’d disappeared home just after two. All in all I’m thinking it was a good night. In the car, however, I got the silent treatment. After much begging and pleading on my part I discover I’m guilty of being flirted with. ‘Who was flirting?’ I asked.
    ‘That trollop in the boob tube.’
    ‘Which one was that?’ I asked.
    ‘You don’t even know?’ she cried.
    The thing you have to realise about us men is that we’re very simple creatures: what you see is what you get. When it comes to reading between the lines we can’t – we’re illiterate – which is why having a go at us for not understanding why you’re upset when you refuse to tell us is both cruel and mean. It’s like smacking a puppy for leaving a deposit on the carpet when you had clearly stated in a seven-page document left in the kitchen drawer why it’s not the done thing. Men, like puppies, can’t read seven-page documents or find anything located in the kitchen drawer and, most of all, they can’t read women’s minds. Which is why if you ask us to guess what’s troubling you we will invariably get it wrong. We don’t do this on purpose: what we do is work on the assumption that, mentally speaking, you’re a bit like us. This means that there’s not a great deal on your mind to ‘read’ other than endless lists of top-ten favourite things, pictures of naked women and fluffy clouds. Even if we tried to put ourselves in your shoes there’d be problems. Have you ever tried walking in a pair of kitten-heeled mules that are several sizes too small? Exactly.
    The answer to the problem is, I’m afraid, a little obvious. In a straw poll of my mates down he pub six out of six of us agreed that the one thing we’d love the women in our lives to do is just tell us what’s wrong rather than us having to guess all the time. As my mate Trevor put it, ‘We’re reasonable people. If they just talked to us with their lips instead of their brain waves we’d know exactly what to do.’ So, there you have it. Save the guessing games for Christmas Day at your gran’s, the psychic exchange for Uri Geller and start talking to your man like a regular human being.

    post-it
    Izzy likes the article. In fact, she likes it so much that she forwards a copy to everyone in the Femme office for their amusement. Apparently it’s a job so well done that it’s going