Things my girlfriend and I have argued about (online version)

80

In what I can only assume was an impromptu but gutsy attempt at the World Irony Record, the other day Margret started to lecture me on how I could become calmer. I mean, really, eh? It's like being pitched Al Qaeda's Little Book of Love. Her spontaneous proselytising was conjured from her now going to yoga one evening a week.

'It's really relaxing when I'm there,' she says.

'Yes, it is,' I reply. (You see what I actually meant there, right? Lord, but I'm arch.)

'Why don't you come to a session?'

There's a sucking, cultish gleam in her eye. The kind of, 'Join us! Join us – the spaceship awaits!' look that you see on the faces of Moonies or people who are telling you about homeopathy.

'No thanks.'

'But you really lose the tension.'

I consider mentioning that she always seems to find it again pretty quickly once she gets back – maybe she might think about getting a yoga instructor who 'loses her tension' by some method other than 'hiding it in our house', but I keep hold of this card for a while.

'I don't need to,' I say, 'I can achieve perfect relaxation by sitting here and watching a Buffy DVD.'

'That's not the same.'

'Yes it is.'

'No it isn't: when you're watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer,' (I promise you these are her exact words that are coming up now), 'you're straining your mind.'

My face briefly collapses under the effort of trying to map the internal reasoning of a psychology that could incubate such a concept, but it's the logical equivalent of falling infinitely into the Mandelbrot set and I pull back, palsied and afraid. Instead, I reach for my ace.

'Well, whatever, the point is – this yoga is only relaxing you for the precise amount of time you're doing it. Once you get back home you're just the same. In fact, you've been moaning even more than usual for the last few weeks.'

'No I haven't.'

'Yes, you have.'

'No, no – I haven't been moaning,' she says, rolling her eyes and tutting. She reaches forward and ruffles my hair. 'I've just been moaning at you.' With that, she gets up and breezes from the room.

You know… I've been thinking about it for several days now, and I still can't figure out who won there.

81

Romance Masterclass.

It's Wednesday the 12th of February. It's early evening. Margret and I are sitting in the living room. Margret has asked me to do something the following day.

Mil: 'I can't, I'm afraid. I'm going into town.'

Margret: 'Why? What do you need to go to town for?'

Mil: 'Oh, I have to get some stuff.'

Margret: 'What stuff?'

Mil: 'Just some stuff… things.'

Margret: 'What things?'

Mil: 'Various things.'

Margret: 'What things?'

Mil: 'What does it matter?'

Margret: 'What things?'

Mil: 'It's not important what specific things, is it? I have to get things or I wouldn't be cycling into town, would I? All that's relevant here is that I have to go, not the details of the individual items I need to get – there's no point wasting time giving you a big list, when the only significant point is that I need to go to town .'

Margret: 'What things?'

Mil: 'Oh, for Christ's sake… Pizzas. I need to buy some pizzas, OK?'

Margret: 'We've got pizzas.'

Mil: 'We've got a pizza.'

Margret: 'So? How many do you need?'

Mil: 'Several. I want to have several in the fridge.'

Margret: 'Why?'

Mil: 'So that we have a stock of them.'

Margret: 'Why?'

Mil: 'So that we don't run out, obviously.'

Margret: 'What would happen if we ran out?'

Mil: 'I'd have to go to town.'

This flings itself out of my mouth while my higher brain is still racing along behind it frantically waving its arms and shouting, 'Wait! Wait!'

Margret responds with just the tiniest movement of her eyebrows. Absolutely minuscule. Sufficient in size, however, to make me wonder if I could get a UN resolution to have her bombed.

Mil: 'I have to get other things too.'

Margret: 'What things?'

Mil: 'What the bloody hell does it matter? Why can't I go to town if I want to, for God's sake?'

Margret: 'Why are you being secretive? What are you up to?'

Mil: 'I'm not up to anything.'

Margret: 'Yes you are.'

Mil: 'Like what?'

Margret: 'I don't know.'

Mil: 'Because there isn't anything.'

Margret: 'Yes there is – I can tell.'

Mil: 'There isn't.'

Margret: 'You bloody liar.'

Mil: 'You bloody mad woman.'

Margret: 'Tell me.'

Mil: 'Stop talking now.'

Margret: 'Tell me.'

Mil: 'I…'

Margret: 'Tell me.'

I think we've both risen to our feet by this point (it allows for better voice projection).

Mil: 'OK! OK! You want to know why I need to go up town, you relentless harridan?!'

Margret: ''Yes! You lying swine!'

Mil: 'So I can get your Valentine's Day card! So I can get your bloody Valentine's Day card and post it to