Women, eh? Women, eh? What do you do about them? What doooooooooo you do about them?

Wifey is on at me these days about my hand gestures. What’s that about? Apparently, she objects to me doing “camp hands” as she calls it. This is where I point something out or make a sweeping gesture with my hands and according to her, it’s a bit limp wristed. This is according to her, mind, and not linked to reality. But sometimes, in the world of the wife, reality takes a back seat to perception. So I might be pointing out a particularly nice shade of pastel lavender coloured toilet paper (quilted, of course) or some quince flavoured organic jam and she will berate me for pointing with camp hands! As if I could be accused of being camp!

Then, she’s taken objection to me resting my hands on my belly from time to time. I call it my “Napoleon pose” but she says I resemble a pregnant woman more. To cap it all, I was slouched on the sofa the other night, trying to watch CSI: Miami (“OK, be on the look out for an Eastern European man with bad teeth who possibly has access to an ape”) when she points at me and says “what is that you’re doing with your hands?”…a purely rhetorical question as she can see perfectly well that I’m just resting my right hand twixt nipple and stomach. I am then forced, on pain of nagging until I jump out of a window, to move my hand to a far more uncomfortable position just because Wifey likes me to look more manly whilst stretched out on a sofa.

It’s always the little things they chip away at you.