It’s been quite the week for revenge. First it was the singer Lily Allen and her “revenge album”, with its tell-all tracks about the alleged behaviour of her now ex-husband, and then it was Nicole Kidman who “stunned in a revenge dress” at a Vogue event after the “shock split” from her husband.
I get it. I’m an easy-going person as a rule, and I can’t tolerate confrontation, conflict, bad feeling, anything like that. I’m all about geniality, in other words. But you mess with me, betray me, scorn me in any way and, my God, will you certainly know about it.
I come into my own then. I may even — and please do take this as a warning — be slightly less genial should we encounter each other again. And you will know about that unless you don’t notice, in which case you won’t know about it at all. I’m not going to excuse it. It’s just how my anger rolls.
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Being “slightly less genial” is not a science. It’s an art. It can come down to the slightest narrowing of the eyes. It can come down to appearing as friendly as ever, but for a split second there, did you see a frown line?
Don’t blame me if you don’t pick up on “slightly less genial” and go away thinking all is tickety-boo. The signs were there. I wouldn’t be momentarily frowning otherwise. This slight narrowing of the eyes, you imagine I did that for my own amusement? I did once consider upping my game to “almost discernibly frosty”, but then decided you can take these things too far. There’s a limit. I’m not a monster.
Still, don’t mess with me. Don’t. You will live to regret it on the off chance you’re ever any the wiser. My old friend Jane messed with me once and would have lived to regret it had she detected it. We go for a walk every week and one week I almost didn’t. I think that told her where I stood.
The guy in the corner shop, he once sold me a bag of rice that was mouldy and get this: I even considered taking it back and demanding a refund. That’s how “slightly less genial” I can be, when pushed.
I think maybe I did mention it later and I didn’t mince my words. I said: “Don’t worry about it, these things happen. Nobody died!” I made quite a scene, I’m not proud to say. I did think about a raw, vulnerable tell-all album with the title track Your Rice, Ahmed, Is Not Very Nice , but again, a step too far. It might have taken us into the “almost discernibly frosty” zone, heaven forbid.
On to the “revenge dress’’. There’s not much I don’t know about a “revenge dress”. It’s true, I don’t own a designer, black, body-hugging, off-the-shoulder number with a split going up to the waist. Who does?
So let me tell you about the next best thing. Let me tell you what works for me and what works for me, particularly in instances of heartbreak, is putting on my favourite joggers (Slazenger; fluffy lined; purple) and crying in bed all day. That’s not an empty threat. I will cry in bed all day. I’ve done it before; I’ll do it again. Should I tip off Hello! and the Daily Mail? So he knows what he’s missing out on?
There’s nothing like seeing someone all red-nosed and snot-streaked to remind them of what they’ve lost. My joggers, by the way, do not have splits up to the waist but do have elasticated cuffs at the ankle, which is a sexy design feature.
I get them cheaply from Sports Direct (£13, or two for £20), but be warned: they come up very big. Mine are a size 10, but I can pull them up to under my armpits. Wear nothing underneath, pull them up and, voilà, an off-the-shoulder get-up! Fit for a Vogue event!*
Bet he’ll be kicking himself then. And if he does come running back, remember: you’ve earned the right to be “slightly less genial” in ways that will entirely pass him by. You could hide one of his socks for about an hour. Something like that.
(*Slave Nephew says it makes me look like Tweedledum. I was nearly cold to him for nearly ten minutes.)
Why dogs can’t clock off at 5pm
Have you, this week, been explaining daylight saving time to your dog? How did it go? Yes, Trixie, your dinner is usually at 6pm, but now 6pm is 5pm. Listen, Trixie, no amount of banging your bowl is going to make a difference. Oh, you’ve gone in for the pitiful crying now. Great. Can’t you do something else for an hour? Why not search for the sock that no one will ever spot is missing?
How do dogs know when it’s 6pm? Or should be? No one can explain fully. Circadian rhythms? Routine? The ebb and flow of certain smells? I did see a documentary on dogs once where this dog would climb on the back of the sofa and look out of the window at the exact time its master was due back from work.
• My dog’s pilates class has given him the core strength of a Beckham
That was the dissipation of smell. You leave your smell when you exit the house and the smell gets weaker and weaker until it gets to the point where the dog registers: “It is at just the right weakness for my master to be coming home! I’m so excited, you’ve no idea!”
They tested this by getting the owner to run in the same clothes every day for a week and then left the clothes behind the sofa. The dog did not react at the usual time. The scent was too strong.
Anyway, I hope you were able to explain to your dog and that it used that extra hour wisely. Maybe not searching for that sock, assuming you’ve already put it back?