WHEN you’re getting ready for a night out, can your girlfriend supernaturally sense you don’t like her outfit? Here she explains what you’ve done without knowing it.
You didn’t say it was nice
You said it was ‘fine’ but didn’t go as far as saying it was ‘nice’, which means you hate it. But you managed to say nice things about Steve’s bright green Dacia Duster before slagging it off to me, so clearly my outfit is so bad it doesn’t even warrant a lie. Thanks a lot. I’ll be remembering this next time you want a compliment for your poncey attempt at cooking which is actually just bland. You’ll be getting the truth. Both barrels.
You did say it was nice
Am I supposed to be flattered by your noncommittal ‘It’s nice’? Biscuits are ‘nice’. My mother’s M&S cardigan is ‘nice’. I bet if Sydney Sweeney was standing here wearing this outfit you’d have thought of a better adjective. It’s lucky I haven’t taken the label off because it’s going back, and when the assistant asks why I’ll explain it’s because you thought it made me look frumpy and old. Have you considered you might be a controlling narcissist who likes to constantly belittle me?
You didn’t say anything
Failing to offer a single comment in your usual relaxed, easygoing, non-judgmental way betrayed your total indifference to me. It’s no exaggeration to say that if you came home and found me dead in the middle of the living room you’d casually sit there watching TV with your feet on my corpse. You know what? I would have preferred the bare minimum ‘it’s nice’ over silence. Silence is not golden, as you’re about to find out this week.
You didn’t notice
Would it have killed you to look up from your phone for ten seconds and say something, anything? No, and the fact that you didn’t makes it obvious you didn’t even notice my carefully curated outfit. I don’t know how – my new light blue, short-sleeved tie-neck top from Jigsaw is totally different to my pale blue, short-sleeved tie-neck top from Whistles. Perhaps I should have worn something with an F1 logo plastered across it, or dressed as Margot Robbie in her Harley Quinn outfit? Well I won’t being doing that because you’d like it.
You noticed too much
I noticed you looking at me for fractionally slightly longer than you would normally. A sort of sinister ‘micro-stare’, if you will. But why? Is it because my outfit is hideous? Despite not actually asking you I’ll take your silence to mean yes. You clearly don’t want to be seen dead with me, so I’ll change into something I know you like, which will take f**king forever. So if we don’t get to the pub until after last orders, it’s because you insisted I got changed.
You think it’s inappropriate
Do you think I don’t recognise that disapproving look by now? It’s the one you give me when I let beans touch a fried egg, or when I’m parking your oversized, penis-substitute car, that flashy Toyota Yaris. I get it – you think I’m dressing too young for my age or I’m showing too much flesh. Now I’ll have to keep my coat on all night. But don’t bother changing your mind and deciding you like it later when you’re pissed and horny because I’ll be dressing like a Victorian schoolmistress from now on.
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