Peter Rook: "Clean your room. It's a mess"
It was my mum who first spotted the condition. It was an affliction that clearly struck me from an early age.
It was my mum who first spotted the condition. It was an affliction that clearly struck me from an early age."Clean your room. It's a mess."
"What? I didn't catch what you said there."
"You heard! And don't say 'what', say 'pardon'."
Fast forward 15 years to married life. "Clean your room. It's a mess."
The words are the same, but the voice is different this time. It's equally whiny, irritating, but no less terrifying.
"Sorry dear. I didn't catch what you said? Could you repeat it. Although, I'd rather you didn't."
"You never listen to a word I say. Your problem is that you have selective hearing."
Turn the clock back 15 years and my mother is standing there finger pointed up towards my bedroom and uttering the words: "Your problem is that you have selective hearing."
And so I have become accustomed to my condition from an early age. I think most men are.
In last week's column, I recalled my marital days and how I was dispatched downstairs to investigate a mysterious bump in the night.
I never once heard a strange noise in the night but it was always Billy Muggins who would have to get up out of bed, sometimes on a cold winter's night, and check it out.
My inability to hear the ruthless intruder who never quite materialised was often attributed to my selective hearing
"You only ever hear what you want to hear anyway. So why would you hear someone breaking in and making off with all our worldly possessions . . . and probably killing me in the process."
"Chance would be a fine thing."
"What was that?!"
"Nothing dear."
I have found that, since my divorce, my selective hearing has miraculously improved. It's a miracle. The good lord really does move in mysterious ways.
From the anecdotal evidence I have gathered (that counts for research in this column) selective hearing is a condition more prone to the married male. This is according to the married female.
It is a curious affliction (although I preferred not to think of it as an affliction – more a blessing in disguise) that is usually induced by any of the following sentences:
"Can my mother stay this weekend?"
"When are you going to finish the bathroom?"
"Nigel and Clarissa have invited us to a dinner party next week."
"Isn't Desperate Housewives on now?"
Although it is a condition more prevalent in men, women also suffer from it when questions arise such as:
"Is that another new pair of shoes you're wearing?"
Or "Do you feel like sex tonight?"
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Thursday 18 March 2010
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