YOU know the answer, your partner knows the answer, but you must go through the ritual of these questions to prove their dominance and your rubbishness.
Why is your bike in the kitchen again?
Just one pint?
Didn’t you say you’d fixed that?
Why did the TV come on to Babestation?
I don’t have to get out of bed at 3am to catch a bloody moth, do I?
You don’t find all those ridiculous muscles attractive, do you?
Did you use the air freshener?
Do you think I’d make a better Barbie than Margot Robbie?
I deleted the numbers of my exes from my phone ages ago, did you?
Have you been sat there all this time?
You’re not expecting me to go all the way back to Asda for one thing, are you?
Or does this look better on me, be honest?
Do you think if you cleared some of the crap out of the shed you could fit a bed in?
Shall I get my acoustic guitar out?
So am I getting an orgasm too?
You won’t forget my birthday after last time, will you?
You do realise she’s photoshopped and doesn’t really look like that?
Didn’t you put any sunscreen on?
Do you want cornflakes or shall I make you some chips for breakfast?
Are the batteries the right way round?
You did remember to load the washing machine and turn it on?
How many times do I have to say it doesn’t go in there?
So how come he’s your dog when he wants stroking, but the family dog when he needs walking?
Then how come there’s car paint on the garden wall?
You don’t mind me buying a drone, do you?
What are these ‘miscellaneous services’ payments on our bank statement for?
Is it my fault a mate is having his birthday when your parents are coming round, again?
Does the rubbish recycle itself in the house?
You don’t mind me taking a break from the painting, do you?
Didn’t your team play last Saturday?
