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'This is just it with you, isn't it? This is just something you do!'
I'm taken aback by this totally false statement. 'Something I do? What do you mean something I do?' How dare she suggest I do something? I spent our whole relationship making sure I did nothing, didn't lift a finger, avoided all action that didn't involve me altogether. Yet here she is sobbing like any 'victim' on the Jeremy Kyle Show with the nerve to say that I DID something.

'Not something you do. But something...' (Pause for unnecessary sob). 'But something YOU MEN DO!' This last part was hissed out to depict her upgraded status-no longer a Jeremy Kyle victim but now an Oprah 'victim' (i.e. a woman whose had enough with being a 'victim' and has worked herself up to a man-hating frenzy so she now has the power to transform all men into a sobbing heap of 'victims', and she stands victoriously on top of the pile as Queen of Victimising Men).

'But I haven't done anything!' I am very aware that I sound like a whining five year old at this point but do not be alarmed-it is all part of the plan. You see, with me acting like a hurt child her maternal instincts are bound to come out to comfort and support me-in a few moments she'll have her arms around me whilst she cries about how sorry she is and admits all the wrong she's ever done. I can't even help a private giggle at my own evil genius. Uh-oh...she noticed it! It's all over before it began!

'What are you smirking about!' It wasn't a question. It was a Proclamation of War. Her voice is surprisingly thunderous 'the kind of thunderous that makes you look down on the floor and shuffle your feet uncomfortably. She's breathing heavily now and inching closer with a predatory sleuth. I think it's time for me to make my great escape.

'I'm going to the pub.' It was supposed to come out as a macho statement but unfortunately was nothing more than an uncomfortably hoarse whisper. She was still inching closer holding her very platformed shoes in her hand in that threatening manner that only a woman can pull off.

I quickly turned and made a fanatical dash for the door. THUD! I fell on the floor and the weighty shoe fell by my side. Blood was flowing from my head and forming a pool around my head. I had a strange feeling that I was Moses, floating down the River Nile. Perhaps this was God's way of telling me that I was in the right or perhaps I was just losing a lot of blood. Whilst I was thinking this, Sam's face looked over me. She was surrounded by holy-light (probably the light bulb now that I think about it) which I took as perhaps God's way of telling me that she was in the right.

This annoyed me as at the time I thought I was being sent mixed messages-surely only a woman would do this. Is God a woman? My train of thought was interrupted by Sam.
'I'm going to my mother's. Call me if you think you're about to die.'

The last thing that I can remember thinking before it all went black was why I can't be man enough to hit a hitting woman.