EVERYONE loves a get-together they organised, full of their mates. Everyone except the partner they’re dragging along who develops a terrible cough the night before:
School reunion
You’ve been in touch with a few of them, but now there’s an official event of your whole year, and you absolutely have to bring your wife to prove that you can pull and you’re not gay and that graffiti about you was a lie. But is she keen on an evening of niche nostalgia about who shat themselves in a French mock? Or has she got food poisoning?
Second cousin’s third wedding reception
You weren’t invited to the first two but she’s fallen out with everyone so needs you to make up the numbers. It’s at a former Labour club in a dodgy bit of town. You’ll barely know anyone there, bear grudges against those you do, and it’s not a free bar. When your husband says he’s coming down with a bug you know he’s lying and don’t blame him.
Classic car rally
Renovating a clapped-out Morris Traveller when you have too much time on your hands is an admirable achievement. Naturally you want other middle-aged men to validate you when they’re not cooing over their own Mk1 Ford Cortinas. But your wife already hates you and cannot be in a field with a hundred men just like you. ‘I’m ill,’ she says.
Soft play birthday party
The birthday boy is all of three, as is your own progeny. They won’t give a shit if your boyfriend is sitting there on his phone while screaming, sugared-up sweaty kids crash into the table and spill his third latte at 9:30am on a Saturday. You want him there for moral support, but he goes out until 3am the night before instead to ensure vomiting. Clever.
The West Midlands Comic-Con
Why? Why would anyone dress up as Deadpool just for photos with people who wouldn’t want the photo if you weren’t unrecognisable? What’s the attraction? And, apart from proving your existence, why would your girlfriend need to be there? She allows what is clearly a quasi-sexual kink, that’s enough. Her excuse? ‘Getting a bit of a bad leg.’
Annual company awards ceremony
He already endures the torture of your corporate grumblings on a daily basis. Why would he want to meet these pissed, brown-nosing corporate clones circle-jerking over pre-paid accomplishments? Just to watch you accept a meaningless prize from the boss you f**king hate? Faking illness is a compromise. Your boyfriend would rather fake death than go to this.
