The Side-Eye on...arguing

One thing about spending lockdown in such close proximity with one’s nearest and dearest is that it turns even the most harmonious couple into battle-hardened old warhorses, gavotting and ducking wearily as the conversations take familiar turns or the same arguments spring up again like evil mushrooms just when you thought that you’d finally had the final word. For us, there are several gruesomely familiar scenarios that play out, generally at low and non-acrimonious levels, yet on steady rotation.

My husband needs to emote and mansplain in order to process literally anything. Mostly, I like to keep it all in. But from descriptions of his latest bike ride to his fears about climate change, rest assured that all thoughts will be broken down and expounded upon at tedious length, with examples helpfully taken from my own little life in order to help me better understand his point of view. Thoughtful, eh?

My tactic – a swift ‘Yes, got it’- deployed early on in the conversation, thus signalling my total and complete understanding of the topic, no further explanation required – only spurs him on. ‘You’ve told me this before. Today, in fact,’ is no deterrent, merely an invitation to expound on his thoughts and experiences. Like a conversational Duracell bunny, or perhaps the Man in Black from Westworld, once he’s decided to tell you something, there is literally no stopping him.

Another regular squabble starts with the Not Understanding. On a weekend morning, he brings coffee and the papers to bed. What a guy, right? Yes, a real keeper, right up to the point that he starts reading, and then takes it upon himself to make loud and rhetorical arguments about the speciousness of politicians, the latest lockdown rules or the history of infighting in the European Labour movement. ‘I don’t understand!’ he will declaim, often with physical gestures which are helpful guides to the depths of his incomprehension. A head clutch; understanding is not there but may come if we could just talk it out. Head clutch with closed eyes, no-one could understand how the beat of this particular butterfly wings intersects with modern political theory but maybe we could explore in-depth in any case. Head clutch, closed eyes and slow exhalation – warning, warning, a full lecture is incoming and yes there will be questions to check I have been listening.

I’ve realised that I am expected to take the part, not of the opposition, but the adoring audience. Dear sir, you say that you do not understand, but I think maybe you have an ingenious yet wordy theory and plan on sharing it! Clever one, you claim that the government is run by nincompoops and asshats, something you cannot for the life of you understand. Fortunately, you have miraculously made time in your busy week - no, not to put on a white wash - but to come up with detailed alternative proposals, which you will presently run through in exquisite detail.

Aside from male declaiming, something else that I shrink from like a cat from a bath is Man Banter. Formerly known as Friday Night in the Pub, now known as Tuesday night Zoom n’ Boom, ponderous sarcastic gags and endless jokes that were unfunny back in the 1990s are joyously recirculated week upon week. I would rather stick hot needles in my eye than be subjected to any of it, especially when the friend that has taken to ‘putting the week to song’ appears, guitar in hand.

As the kids go back to school, healthy delineations between work and home life reappear like repainted street signage. He is excited at the blissful prospect of returning to an office full of men who also don’t understand things, but have brought in some great vinyl and real ale to drink as they seek enlightenment. And I am breathing an especial sigh of relief at the possibility of absence making the heart grow fonder.

Jennifer Coyle, September 2020.