Man vs Woman: Let the Battle Commence
What is it with the age-old battle between men and women? Why is it we just can’t seem to co-exist in peace for more than a few days?
Is it the man’s fault or the woman’s? (I can answer that straight away!)
Both living under the same roof, slowly driving each other insane, wondering how and why it ever came to this. It’s not romance anymore, it’s a game of strategy to see who can hold it together for the longest. At this point in life, most middle-aged couples are only putting up with it because the alternative is losing the house, half of everything, and having to start dating other worn-out middle-aged tortoises like themselves. It’s just too much like hard work to start all over again, so they continue trudging along with the cards they have been dealt with.
I sometimes wonder if I should start writing for Mills and Boon!
Let’s take a look at the ins and outs of being a couple in midlife.
Communication: Same Language. Different Planets.
Men in middle age have boiled communication down to its absolute essence: “Where’s my wallet?” “What’s for tea?” and “Can you record that thing about tanks later?” Anything beyond these basics is considered excessive, unnecessary, and potentially dangerous. Infact, if they can, they would rather just keep it on a basic level of grunts, throat noises, huffs and puffs, and different levels of exaggerated breathing.
Conversations about feelings? It’s like a dog trying to learn quantum physics.
Women, on the other hand, can talk…oh how they can talk!..at Olympic levels. 3-hour conversations about curtains!…CURTAINS!.. FFS! And men don’t dare to interrupt or offer a point of view, because they just know it will end up in an argument they can’t win.
Women also have their own language, that men could probably grasp were it not for the fact the meanings change all the time! “Yes” can mean “No” – but sometimes “No” means “Yes,” and if it really means “Yes” (or “No”) then she may well add in a “Maybe” first… Confused? That’s the whole point of it; it’s sort of like Corporate Jargon where nothing is as it sounds. It’s lucky men are usually either too stupid to work it out, or more likely just can’t be bothered.
The “Do I Look Fat?” Dilemma
If a wife ever asks her husband, “Do I look fat in this?”… Sweet Jesus, the fear and confusion that runs through his mind at that moment! Does he tell the truth and risk chaos, or fake admiration and hope for the best? Should he smile, say “You look wonderful in anything, my love,” and hope for some love-points later? Or go full honesty with, “Don’t worry, you look fat in everything,” and prepare for another night on the sofa?
Maybe it’s easier to freeze, hold his breath, mutter something unintelligible, and run for it. There are no right answers here—only bad outcomes.
Everyday Communication Fails
Her: “You don’t listen to me.”
Him: “Sorry, What?”
Her: “Did you even hear me?”
Him: “Ten past Seven.”
Her: “Why is the toilet seat still up?”
Him: “Gravity’s fault?”
Her: “No, it’s your fault.”
Him: “Technically, I’m helping airflow.”
Her: “Technically, you’re a useless lazy layabout.”
Him: “Noted.”
Health in Middle Age?: He’s Ignoring It, She’s Fending It Off With Creams
Women are waging all-out war with gravity. There’s a potion, lotion, or supplement for everything, smothering themselves in anti-aging creams, and eating salads so depressing even the lettuce looks suicidal. They take on every new fad to reduce the spread of ageing, from exfoliating their knees to curing all their woes with “essential” smelly oils… Really!? The bathroom looks like the aftermath of an explosion in Boots, while the fridge looks like the most dull health food shop imaginable.
Men?
While she’s eating chia seeds and drinking coconut water, we’re still eating sausage rolls and scotch eggs, washing them down with a pint of what we call “hydration.”
Sore knee? It’ll be fine. Chest pains? Stick the kettle on, I’ll walk it off.
Doctor? Don’t be daft, I’ve only had this suspicious lump for five years.
Middle-aged men treat medical advice like it’s an optional Spotify subscription – unnecessary and easily ignored.
Exercise?
The only exercise we’re committed to is lifting the remote or pretending DIY counts as a workout, or trying to carry every single grocery bag in one trip so we don’t have to make two journeys.
Sex Appeal: The Blind Leading the Blind
Delusion is at a peak when it comes to looks in middle age!
Men still swagger around like Jason Statham, trying to impress the young women with their “still got it” bodies. But the unfortunate truth is, with a beer gut and man-boobs we look more like a mix of Uncle Fester and Mr Blobby. Not so much – “gritty tough action hero,” more – “clumsy oversized sitcom zero.”
The Two Camps of Women
Women are split into two different camps. One side, bless them, does everything possible to keep herself physically attractive (even though they’re secretly about five minutes away from giving up entirely and spending the next decade in pyjamas).
The other side feels they have done their part in earlier years, and now it’s time to let the husband deal with their “natural aura” (or as we like to explain it – she doesn’t care if she farts out loud in bed anymore).
A Wild Night in Middle Age?
A “wild night” in bed nowadays is more often a quick 5-minute “body cuddle” – then the kind gent falls into an exhausted deep sleep, and the sultry lady is left wondering – “I really stopped watching Dancing On Ice for that!”
Hobbies: Just Stay Out of My Way
For men, it’s all about pretending to “fix” things that didn’t need fixing. That rattle in the car? Leave it to me. I’ll spend three hours swearing at it, break something else, and declare, “It’s better than it was.”
Some take up golf, fishing, or restoring a classic car—ways of spending the maximum amount of time hiding away from unnecessary socializing with their other half.
Women’s hobbies are way more social – book clubs, wine nights, craft meetings, but they’re not about the activity. They’re about whining about us over a glass (or three) of Shiraz. While you’re faffing about with a power drill or drowning maggots in a river, she’s out there telling her mates about how you folded the towels wrong again or didn’t notice the new floral scent in the bathroom.
You can marvel at some more hobbies here!
Parenting: Mum’s the Boss, Dad’s the Clown
Let’s face it, dads in middle age are terrible parents. Sure, we love our kids, but if “winging it” was an Olympic sport, we’d have a Gold medal and 12 sponsorship deals.
Packed lunch? Left it on the roof of the car. Homework? Who cares about algebra? I haven’t used it in 30 years.
Meanwhile, Mum manages the whole circus while also quietly keeping score of how much of a liability Dad is.
Her: “Did you feed them?”
Him: (Looks up like a deer in headlights) “They’ll eat when they’re hungry.”
At the same time, one child smears jam into the dog’s fur, and another microwaves a fork.
Shopping: Just Kill Me Now!
Shopping is the ultimate man vs woman event.
Men’s Shopping Style
Men treat it like surgery: list in hand, grab the item, leave ASAP. Unless it’s a DIY store—then we’re two hours deep in screws and brackets as if our lives depend on it. It’s efficient…and mostly about minimal movement.
Women’s Shopping Style
Women? Shopping is an event. They go in for batteries and exit with ten random bags. The batteries are, of course, forgotten. They’ll proudly show you the £3 top they scored, ignoring the £200 spent on candles and impractical shoes. It’s about the adventure, not the purchase, and the weird joy of unexpected “wins.” It’s baffling—yet oddly impressive.
Conclusion: There’s No Escape, So You May As Well Laugh
By middle age, “man vs woman” isn’t a fight; it’s a tragic sitcom that should’ve been cancelled years ago.
But here we are, limping through life together, belching and farting unashamedly, and doing our best to somehow wind the other up. Not so much enemies, more begrudging allies.
Men leaving the toilet seat up all the time, women not changing the toilet roll when it’s empty. Both parties are as bad as each other!
Now put the kettle on dear, it’s your turn.