Why specs appeal of Bill Nighy glasses is totally lost on me

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Have you seen my reading glasses – the ones you don’t like?

Such a question shouldn’t get your goat. After all, we all lose our specs umpteen times a day because there’s a design flaw; you put them down somewhere and it stands to reason you won’t be able to see to find them.

But Bloke’s inference was that I’d deviously and permanently deprived him of them. His reasoning? I’d told him innumerable times that, what with his floppy hair, when he perches his retro black frames on the end of his nose and peers over the top, he reminds me of Bill Nighy in some Richard Curtis rom-com. And it does nothing for me.

Of all the cheek. I’d never do that. I’m the prudent with money sort. Poundland pound is 100 pence not to be squandered.

For the same reason, neither would I deliberately shrink his boring jumpers (he always buys them in black, navy and grey; I suspect some kind of school uniform fetish). Yet this is something else I’ve been accused of.

“It wasn’t me, it was the washer,” I protest, to a face bearing a wry twist of a smile and one irritatingly arched brow.

He’s mistaking me for the 43 per cent of duplicitous women who deliberately bin their partner’s dodgy clothes – and the one in seven who purposefully ruin things in the wash just so they never have to see them on his back (or backside) again.

I do know women like the ones in the new survey by M&S and Oxfam. One in particular, whose identity I must strive to protect in this column, seeing as some 14 years on her husband is still trying to figure out how he managed to lose an entire bagful of his best golfing sweaters when they moved into their first home together.

He loved those sickly pastel chequerboard pullovers and tank tops that made him look like a rather large slice of Battenburg. So much so, he was convinced the removal man must been overcome with a rush of pullover envy and snaffled them.

He even emailed the company with a thinly veiled accusation. Truth was, his new wife had ceased the opportunity to remodel him and deliberately stuffed them all into a black bin liner and stuck it not with the bags destined for the flitter’s van, but for the skip in the front garden.

I’d never do that to Bloke. Why be so devious and underhand? Pointless. Far better to hold up the offending item, pile on the scorn and shame him into binning it himself. Much more educational.