The Look™

My wife, Mary, is the most wonderful person I know. She’s kind, caring, and the perfect partner to be spending my life with.

She also has The Look™.

I’m never quite sure when I’m going to get it. But when she deploys it? I crumble. Instantly. A quivering wreck.

Apparently, it’s my own fault.

Mary wouldn’t need The Look™ if I behaved like a sensible, rational human being. If I just did what she asked, when she asked.

Also — and this has been said more than once — I probably shouldn’t use household objects like armchair cushions or the tea cosy as hats. That, too, tends to trigger The Look™.

Dancing with her while she’s mopping the floor?

Bad idea. That one usually results not just in The Look™, but a serious warning that the mop may be inserted somewhere painful if I don’t stop messing about.

Over the years, Mary has refined her version to such an art form that I genuinely believe she’s earned the trademark.

But here’s the terrifying bit: Ellie, my granddaughter, has inherited it.

She’s nine.

The other day, I was gently annoying her — I mean, offering creative support — while she was writing. I kept suggesting made-up words, like flabbergooned (to be surprised by something unnecessarily large). She chuckled politely. For a while.

Then… she turned and gave me The Look (MK2)™.

Nine years old, and already equipped with a perfectly calibrated version.
Clearly learned from Mary.

Naturally, I behaved immediately. I only suggested words she’d find in the dictionary. Mopped my brow. Thought I’d got away with it.

But then Mary came into the room.

“How’s Ellie getting on with her writing exercise?” she asked.
“Fine,” said Ellie. “Apart from Grandad telling me to use words that aren’t in the dictionary.”

Drumroll, please…

They BOTH gave me: The Look™.

I collapsed on the spot. A twitching wreck of a man.

So, gentlemen — be warned.
The Look™ is a powerful force. It appears to be passed down the female line like some ancient rite.

And it is devastatingly effective.
You have been warned.