In which I un­lock a New Me

Irish Daily Mail - YOU - - LIZ JONES’S DIARY -

IHAVE NO IDEA WHAT’S GO­ING ON. Last week I wrote about how my fam­ily is ghost­ing me. Then, on Sun­day, I sud­denly re­alised I haven’t had a text from David for eight days (I know, I’ve been busy; plus, my life does not re­volve around whether or not I have a boyfriend), so I sent a nice, friendly, light­hearted note.

‘Hi Dave. Do you need any more cat food de­liv­ered? I’m in town this week if you fancy din­ner on Fri­day. I’ll cook.’

Three days later, noth­ing, al­though I re­ceived a ‘read’ mes­sage mo­ments af­ter I sent it.

Which is wor­ry­ing, mainly be­cause he’s look­ing af­ter my three cats. Tiny lit­tle fur hostages who mean not only the world to me, but that I can­not ig­nore him back.

I’m try­ing to think what I have done (or writ­ten, more like) to an­noy him. And then I re­mem­ber that last time I saw him, we’d had a huge row over the fact he never takes my side (I yelled at one point, ‘Marry the Uber driver, see if I care!’), and he had said sadly be­fore I drove home to York­shire, ‘Well, I don’t know where we go from here.’

I was an­gry too be­cause, barely two weeks af­ter mov­ing into my flat, he lost my spare set of keys. I never lose keys, be­cause when I get home they go in a bowl by the front door, and if I’m out they are sealed in a zipped pocket or Prada hand­bag. I tried not to be an­gry, but it man­aged to seep out of my pores.

Why do men al­ways lose things? Do they think be­ing care­less is some­how swag­ger­ingly ma­cho? In Paris, he lost the Dun­hill lighter I’d bought him. He has in the past locked him­self out of his car and his flat. Af­ter a ho­tel stay, he re­alised he’d left all his clothes in the wardrobe.

I told him I hadn’t even man­aged to get the me­ters read and trans­ferred into my name hav­ing just moved home twice, and that he was giv­ing me more ir­ri­tat­ing, time-con­sum­ing tasks to do. Get­ting it all sorted out cost £400 and two days.

Tell me this. Why does a night out with a man al­ways end up cost­ing me money? He of­fered to pay me back, but as he lost his car keys at the same time, he also texted, ‘I know it’s my fault but I’m al­ready poorer by £480 get­ting Jaguar to sup­ply an­other set of keys. Plus the stress has taken its toll.’

The stress has taken its toll!

He should try be­ing me! I’m go­ing to put ‘The stress has taken its toll’ on his grave­stone, be­low, ‘The ring was just a to­ken…’

You see, men do daft, care­less things, yet we’re not sup­posed to re­act in case they get stressed.

Men also say an­noy­ing things such as, ‘Re­mind me in the morn­ing to find out why the car is over­heat­ing.’ (My 30-year-old hus­band had no idea cars need oil, or that you have to check the lev­els with a dip­stick or that the bon­net, like, opens.)

In the past, I’d have said, ‘Of course.’ and im­me­di­ately typed it into my on­line cal­en­dar, and set an alert on my phone. I’d have phoned the garage, too.

But these days, I just say, ‘B ***** off. I’m not your bleed­ing PA.’ So, for all you gals out there still in the giddy throes of a new re­la­tion­ship, or get­ting waxed and ex­fo­li­ated each Satur­day and won­der­ing about the se­quin skirt in Zara in the hope of meet­ing The One, let me give you the ben­e­fit of my ex­pe­ri­ence in or­der to save time and money spent on wed­dings and di­vorce lawyers and skirts, and teach you the cor­rect re­sponse when a man starts mewl­ing.

1 You ask him to put up a Bill Am­berg bed­head and he says he will ‘do it in day­light’. The next morn­ing, he says he has to leave for lunch with his son, and will ‘do it next time’. Old Me: ‘Don’t worry, I’ll pay for a builder.’ New Me: ‘You should have got up ear­lier. Tell him you’ll be late. He’s not 12.’

2 You’ve del­e­gated re­spon­si­bil­ity for get­ting you both to the air­port for a mini break. (You’ve booked flights and ho­tel; old habits die hard.) Half an hour be­fore take off, still in his sweats, he mum­bles vaguely, ‘Which air­port is it?’

Old Me: ‘OK, I’ll drive at 104mph and leave the car in the short stay car park. It’ll be fine, if ex­pen­sive.’ New Me: ‘Bye! Don’t for­get to feed the cats!’ See how much more fun it is be­ing New Me?


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