Read Online Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About by Mil Millington - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mil Millington
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victimhood that so elevates contemporary society. You can be confident of my noble legal stature because – look – I'm wearing a corporate waterproof jacket.'
Hold on, let me start that again. I think I may have edged, just slightly, into editorializing.
OK. Fact: I cannot walk through town without one these people heading me off. Their eyes shine the moment I stumble into their line of sight – they'll push other shoppers out of the way just to get at me. What does that say? What kind of lift to your self-confidence does
that
provide, eh?
Salesgit: 'Excuse me. Have you had an accident within the last three years?'
Me: 'No. I always look like this.'
I mean, it's basically someone coming up to you and saying, 'Hi –
you
appear to be the result of some terrible catastrophe,' isn't it?
Maybe I should reassess my haircut or something.
Anyway, as I was saying before you set me off on that tangent, a question I get asked a lot is 'What's the most frequent argument you have?' I can't imagine why people ask me things like this. That is, I can't imagine why people ask
me
this – why don't they ask other people? If you want to ask about arguments, then ask an argument expert. I can't claim to be an expert, because I lack the vital aspect of depth – I can't provide a balanced answer, because I've simply no experience of what it's like to be in the wrong. I'd like to have that experience, obviously. In some ways I even feel vaguely cheated by my consistent rightness but, well, we have to play the hand we're dealt, right?
However, though I can't really say what the most frequent argument is, I can have a stab at the definitive one. This argument illustrates a fundamental theme – a core issue. Because of that, it can be used in all kinds of situations. The details are unimportant; the following example may be 'about' domestic chores, or shopping arrangements, or 'sorting out of children', or any number of things. Below those superficial, ephemeral points is the true heart of the matter. The argument goes:
Margret: 'I cannot
believe
that you didn't do it.'
Mil: 'You didn't ask me to do it.'
Margret: 'Why should I have to
ask
you to do it?'
Mil: 'So I know you want me to do it.'
Margret: 'But I have to ask you to do everything.'
Mil: 'But I do everything you ask me to.'
Margret: 'But I have to ask you to do
everything
.'
Mil: 'But I do
everything
you ask me to.'
Margret: 'No – listen – the point is, I have to ask you to do
everything
.'
Mil: 'Yes – and I do
everything
you ask me to.'
[Some hours later….]
Margret: '
I
… have to
ask
….
you
… to do
everything
.'
Mil: 'And
I…
do
everything… you
ask me to.'
Margret: 'Arrgggh! Listen!
I
…'
And so on. You see the problem, yes? The problem is that, for some reason, Margret is completely unable to grasp point that I do
everything
she asks me to. You'd think that'd be a simple enough concept, wouldn't you? Tch.
85
I'm not even going to try to dissect this. Why tie up both our mornings on a futile hunt for understanding, eh? I'm surely not going to be able to pick out anything – my searching fingers are now too callused, from running them along Margret's reasoning in an attempt to identify the scar where it's been imperfectly welded to reality. So, here we go, then.
I shuffle into the living room. It's first thing in the morning; I'm still in my night clothes, the children are circle-eyed and oval-mouthed – their faces distorted by the gravitational pull of the television screen – Margret is opening some post. I flop down on to the sofa.
Margret glances over at me. 'Have you got butter in your ear?' she asks, casually, before returning to her letters.
Briefly, I wonder if this is dream… too close to call, I decide – may as well just press on regardless.
I reach up and touch the side of my head. My finger returns with some shaving foam.
'It's shaving foam,' I reply.
Without looking up, Margret nods. 'Oh, right.
Hold on, let me start that again. I think I may have edged, just slightly, into editorializing.
OK. Fact: I cannot walk through town without one these people heading me off. Their eyes shine the moment I stumble into their line of sight – they'll push other shoppers out of the way just to get at me. What does that say? What kind of lift to your self-confidence does
that
provide, eh?
Salesgit: 'Excuse me. Have you had an accident within the last three years?'
Me: 'No. I always look like this.'
I mean, it's basically someone coming up to you and saying, 'Hi –
you
appear to be the result of some terrible catastrophe,' isn't it?
Maybe I should reassess my haircut or something.
Anyway, as I was saying before you set me off on that tangent, a question I get asked a lot is 'What's the most frequent argument you have?' I can't imagine why people ask me things like this. That is, I can't imagine why people ask
me
this – why don't they ask other people? If you want to ask about arguments, then ask an argument expert. I can't claim to be an expert, because I lack the vital aspect of depth – I can't provide a balanced answer, because I've simply no experience of what it's like to be in the wrong. I'd like to have that experience, obviously. In some ways I even feel vaguely cheated by my consistent rightness but, well, we have to play the hand we're dealt, right?
However, though I can't really say what the most frequent argument is, I can have a stab at the definitive one. This argument illustrates a fundamental theme – a core issue. Because of that, it can be used in all kinds of situations. The details are unimportant; the following example may be 'about' domestic chores, or shopping arrangements, or 'sorting out of children', or any number of things. Below those superficial, ephemeral points is the true heart of the matter. The argument goes:
Margret: 'I cannot
believe
that you didn't do it.'
Mil: 'You didn't ask me to do it.'
Margret: 'Why should I have to
ask
you to do it?'
Mil: 'So I know you want me to do it.'
Margret: 'But I have to ask you to do everything.'
Mil: 'But I do everything you ask me to.'
Margret: 'But I have to ask you to do
everything
.'
Mil: 'But I do
everything
you ask me to.'
Margret: 'No – listen – the point is, I have to ask you to do
everything
.'
Mil: 'Yes – and I do
everything
you ask me to.'
[Some hours later….]
Margret: '
I
… have to
ask
….
you
… to do
everything
.'
Mil: 'And
I…
do
everything… you
ask me to.'
Margret: 'Arrgggh! Listen!
I
…'
And so on. You see the problem, yes? The problem is that, for some reason, Margret is completely unable to grasp point that I do
everything
she asks me to. You'd think that'd be a simple enough concept, wouldn't you? Tch.
85
I'm not even going to try to dissect this. Why tie up both our mornings on a futile hunt for understanding, eh? I'm surely not going to be able to pick out anything – my searching fingers are now too callused, from running them along Margret's reasoning in an attempt to identify the scar where it's been imperfectly welded to reality. So, here we go, then.
I shuffle into the living room. It's first thing in the morning; I'm still in my night clothes, the children are circle-eyed and oval-mouthed – their faces distorted by the gravitational pull of the television screen – Margret is opening some post. I flop down on to the sofa.
Margret glances over at me. 'Have you got butter in your ear?' she asks, casually, before returning to her letters.
Briefly, I wonder if this is dream… too close to call, I decide – may as well just press on regardless.
I reach up and touch the side of my head. My finger returns with some shaving foam.
'It's shaving foam,' I reply.
Without looking up, Margret nods. 'Oh, right.
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