 Nothing
keeps a relationship on its toes so much as lively debate and
fortunately many couples will agree on absolutely nothing at all! Say
if the man and woman are from two different culture or two different
countries, it will easy, based upon their grammatical sentences, to
away from the scene by saying anything! Okey-dokey, here are few things
usually couple argue on based on their understanding and cultural
differences. I took my survey based upon a German women Margaret and
English man Daniel, thus Daniel narrates this way……
Margaret
doesn't like to watch films on the TV. No, hold on - let me make sure
you've got the inflection here. She says she does, but years of bitter
experience have proven that what she actually wants is to sit by Craig
while he narrate the entire bleeding film to her. 'Who's she?', 'Why
did he get shot?', 'I thought that one was on their side?', 'is that a
bomb?' For heavens sake 'JUST WATCH IT! JUST WATCH IT!' The
most hellish thing is when Margaret narrates the whole suspense before
the starting of the movie. "Chair-clawing suspense being assaulted
mercilessly from behind by such interjections as, 'Hey! Look! They're
the cushions we've got.', 'Isn't she the one who does that tampon
advert?' and, on one famous occasion, 'Oh, I've seen this - he gets
killed at the end."
The TV Remote…Grrrrr did I say Remote control? It
is only by epic self-discipline on both our parts that we don't argue
about the TV Remote to the exclusion of all else. It does the TV Remote
a disservice to suggest that it is only the cause of four types of
argument, but space, you will understand, is limited so I must
concentrate on the main ones.
1)
Ownership of the TV Remote: This is signified by its being on the arm
of the sofa closest to you, which is more important than life itself or
something like that.
She keeps making me carry tampons around –
Margaret: Here, have these, just in case.
Daniel: Boohoo, why can't you carry them?
Margaret: I've got no pockets. (Gives face)
Then,
of course, I forget about them and the next time I'm meeting The
Duchess of Kent or someone I pull a handkerchief out of my pocket and
shower feminine hygiene products everywhere.
Now,
what you have to realize is that this was from nowhere, OK? Don't think
there were previous conversations or situations that put this in
context. Oh no. Just imagine the, 'What the F***?' moment you
did have been standing in if your partner had said this to you, because
you did have had as much preparation as I did. So, it's just after
Christmas and Margret's moaning about her present (I almost forget what
was she actually wished to have on that Christmas- a Ferrari, I think,
but in the wrong color or something), um, actually, let me come back to
this, that reminds me...
Before every birthday, Christmas or whatever the conversation will be like this.
Daniel: What do you want?
Margaret: Surprise me.
Daniel: Noooooo, just tell me what you want. If I guess it'll be the wrong thing, it's always the wrong thing.
Margaret: No, it won't. It'll be what you chose, and a surprise, that's what's important.
Nonsense…BullS****(I was secretly thinking in my mind)
Daniel: Sweetest, you say that now, but come Christmas morning it'll be, "What the hell were you thinking?" again, won't it?
Margaret: No. It. Won't.' Daniel: Yes it will.
Margaret: Don't patronize me.'
At
the end, Margaret gets her way and I keep hunting around in utter
desperation for two months for something before finally landing up in
one item that will work at 7.30pm on Christmas Eve for a cost of
twenty-three-and-a-half thousands pounds, later on Christmas morning
it's, 'What the hell were you thinking?' But anyway!
Back
at the previous topic, it's just after Christmas and Margret's going on
about her present, which was, you'll recall, a necklace of a single
diamond suspended on a delicate chain of white gold and sapphires. And
this is what I hear come out of her mouth - 'Why didn't you get me a
wormer, I dropped enough hints?' You what?
I
get accused of hoarding things by Margaret. Now, this is entirely unfair
because the real point is that it's Margret who fills our house with
crap. And I'm not talking about doing so by the omission of
crap-throwing-away here, but by insane design. While sorting out the
stuff in the boxes, these are some of the things I've discovered that
Margret actually packed away at our last house and brought to our new one:
1) Empty Pringles tubes.
2) Rocks (not 'special ornamental rocks', you understand, just 'rocks' from our previous garden).
3) Old telephone directories.
4) Two carrier bags full of scraps of material.
5) Those little sachets of salt and sugar you get with your meal on planes.
6) Some wooden sticks.
7) Last year's calendar.
And yet, were I to throw her from a train, they'd call me the criminal.
Damn, damn, damn washing up. Now, in the normal course of things I do all the cooking and washing up. (This
is partly due to a tactical error I made in an argument many years ago.
You know when you're so angry you start blurring the line between
masochistic hyperbole and usefully hissing threat? 'Well, maybe I'll
just microwave all my CDs - look, look, there goes my Tom Robinson Band
- feel better now?' Been there? Splendid! So, several years ago we were
having this argument and somehow I found myself inhabiting a place
where saying, 'OK, OK, OK - I'll do all the cooking and all the washing
up all the time, then!' seemed like a hugely cunning gambit. In fact,
this is not too bad a deal.) Can you remember what I was saying before I opened those brackets?
Hold on... ah, right - washing up. Now,
the thing is, if you're an English male, what you do when you leave
home is go to the shop nearest to your new place, buy a Pot Noodle
(Chicken and Mushroom), feast on its delights slumped on the sofa in
front of the TV, swill out the plastic carton it came in, then use this
carton for all your subsequent meals until you get married. There is a
beauty of economy to it. Thus, when I cook a meal for four, the
aftermath left in the sink as I carry the gently steaming plates to the
table is a single saucepan and, if I have pulled out the all stops to
dazzle visiting Royalty, perhaps a spoon. Margaret cannot make cheese
on toast without using every single saucepan, wok, tureen and colander
in the house. Post-Margaret-meal, I walk into the kitchen to discover a
sink teetering with utensils holding off gravity only by the sly use of
spatula glue.
Daniel: How the hell did you use all these to make that?
Margaret: It's just what I needed.
Daniel: What? Where did the lawnmower fit in?
Look, if you don't understand the rules of Robot Wars by now then I'm just not going to continue the conversation, OK?
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