I know instantly I’m on rocky ground because I get ‘the look.’
It’s a stare she wears with an almost imperceptible smile. Someone who didn’t know her wouldn’t even notice but I can spot those lovely lips just beginning to hint at her normal warm smile. But they don’t at this moment.
There’s no hint of anger, just a look that tells me she’s very, very displeased and she’s letting me know in the most poignant messaging service in her armoury.
She says nothing and no matter how hard I try to brazen it out by staring back, nothing breaks that look and in the end it’s always me attempting to curb the silence – usually with some inane comment, followed by a nervous giggle that makes me feel like some naughty schoolboy.
She waits patiently for the nervous tirade of meaningless chatter until I eventually find myself asking her what you’ve done wrong.
Of course shoe knows I am only too well aware of my errors and her only response to my question is always, one of feigned resignation at my apparent stupidity followed by: “I really don’t need to explain. You know exactly what you have done wrong.”