HAVING a disagreement with your female partner? Think you’ve got the upper hand? Prepare to be blown out of the water by one of these counterstrikes.
Flagging a random past misdemeanour. She’s on the back foot but there’s no time to revel in your half-victory as you’re now made to defend yourself over something you can’t remember doing. And you’re a bastard for forgetting you did it. The Guantanamo Bay-style disorientation will leave you unable to remember what argument you were winning in the first place, much less press home your advantage.
Blind accusation. ‘I don’t even know why you’re with me when you clearly fancy Karen more.’ Unfair, underhand, and if she’s made a lucky guess, utterly true. Which is why you’ll go from the edge of victory to babbling frantic denials in one audacious move. Saying she’s way more attractive than any of her friends will be met with grunts and a toss of the head and you’ll spend the rest of the evening getting blanked. Game over.
‘I’m not talking to you when you’re in this mood.’ Oh come on. It’s not often you get to be right and you only sound slightly tetchy. Apparently you started it, although actually she did, and now you’re ranting like Hitler at the end of Downfall, except you’re not. Any attempt at denying you’re the one in a foul temper will get you nowhere because, as previously pointed out, she’s not talking to you. Checkmate.
‘You’ve never liked my mother either, have you?’ F**k all to do with anything, but it’s true and she knows it. No man ever really likes his partner’s mum unless he’s an off-the-scale pervert after a threesome. Even saying you find her mother very attractive to prove to her she’s wrong is probably not a good strategy right now.
‘Can’t you see I’m upset?’ With crocodile tears thrown in too if she’s particularly skilled at playing this hand. She’s absolved herself of blame and made you feel like a right horrible bastard in one fell swoop. As you pathetically give her a hug to make up she’ll be grinning like a Chesire cat over your shoulder at the sweet taste of victory, savouring you having to buy her flowers and a massive box of chocolates tomorrow for being such a twat.
‘Fine.’ As near as she’ll ever come to admitting defeat, while still emerging as the wronged party. You’ve won, but she’s sucked all the joy out of your victory. In six months’ time she’ll also flag this argument up in the ‘random past misdemeanour’ category, catching you by surprise all over again. Oh, and you won’t be getting a shag this weekend either.
