It’s all our own fault. We showed them how to scrub themselves pink then slather every squeaky surface in moisturiser.
But look what we’ve gone and done. Darn it, we’ve created a perfectly smooth, sweet-smelling monster with big bouffy hair and exacting tastes in night cream. And to top it all, he’s expensive to keep.
Metrosexual man so loves his beauty products - or rather, his partner’s - he’s costing her £230 a year.
Most are so lazy (never mind the state of his cuticles; can’t we do something about THAT?) they nick their WAGs’ products instead of heading to the beauty counter to buy their own. Nearly half of British women moan their man is sneakily using their products to the tune of £19.50 a month.
I’ve had first hand experience of this. Bloke nicks my dry shampoo, Boy swipes my fake tan. And always, it’s the best brands they plump for. Because they think they’re worth it.
What to do? Put a lock on your dressing able drawer? Drag them by the hair (beautifully conditioned, with plenty of body, movement and texture, thanks to you and your Bumble and Bumble collection) to the John Lewis beauty floor?
Why bother? If they’re over 49, just hide their reading glasses and you can fob them off with any old thing, as BF No2 recently discovered.
One night last week, the boyfriend waddled into the bedroom with a worried look on his face; she could spot the frown, even beneath a glossy layer of what was very probably her Elemis night cream.
“Umm,” he said. “Can we go back to the old make of washlets? Only my BTM is getting a bit sore.”
“Haven’t changed them,” she replied. “We’re still using Andrex.”
At that, his frown deepened. “But the packet looks different...”
The penny dropped with her. (This being a toilet story, I thought I’d use the line). No wonder he was waddling. “You didn’t use the orange pack, did you?”
Oh, yes, readers. For the past fortnight he’d been wiping his bum with Parazone bog-cleaning wipes.
Well, it says toilet wipes on the packet. And ‘kills all toilet germs’ in capital letters. There was even a picture of a lavatory. How misleading. You’d think Jeyes would have accounted for presbyopian dimbo himbos, wouldn’t you?
He now has the cleanest bottom in Christendom, is the butt of her jokes and she’s thinking of standing the Vim and some gritty Jif cream where the talc and the body exfolliant normally sit...