I was feeling pretty good until then..

Lounging at an awkward angle on the sofa, telly button perched on his gut, feet pointed at the TV, husband remarks,


"Oh yes, I forgot to tell you, I thought I saw you in town today but it wasn't you. I really thought it was; she looked exactly like you" 


"And...." (he enthused) " she even had hair just like yours. Short grey hair! Even though she was MUCH younger than you!" 


To the male mind before me, swimming in its relatively cavernous and obviously befuddled little world, like a lone guppy searching for the walls of a foggy bowl, this was supposed to be a compliment. If you've ever seen the delightful little movie 'Up', the expression created by this mixture of confusion, affection and hope was perfectly recreated on Dug, the mutt. 


So far, then, it seems my darling other has sought to offer me the gift of consolation. He obviously spoke to make me feel 'better' about my chosen hairstyle and colour; to offer me the silver lining to my silver situation; that I could have looked like this a decade ago.  


Thanks, babe. 


My turn: 
"So, love, if she looked so exactly like me, how could you tell she was younger?" 


I'm sorry, I can't help it. When he asks for more rope, I just keep reeling it out. Its like some dreadful, hypnotic compulsion.


(Confident now, dealing with facts and feeling safe, he replies) 
"Well, she was, well, sprightly. I mean she ran. Straight past me. For a bus. That's not something you're even capable of, is it?" 


OK.....