Seven fool-proof excuses that will get you out of almost anything

Sometimes it feels as though we have so much love to give. So much to contribute. At other times, it just feels as though everyone wants a piece. And not in a sexy way. The dishwasher wants to be emptied. The fridge door wants to be closed. So much asking. And such ‘reasonable’ requests.

Oh, so we are the problem, are we? Well, are we? Anyway, just recently, one of us, (Emilie) – a recovering people pleaser,  is that OK? – was asked to volunteer for some chore that she really felt she could not deliver on. The other of us (Annabel), is generally left alone because of her surly demeanour.  She has a unique ability to radiate silent fury.

In this instance, the compulsive volunteer needed to make it understood that it would not be possible to undertake this proffered task. But how? How to say no? How to be heard?

‘I don’t have time,’ inspires an unspoken, ‘Make time’. Similarly, ‘I’m too tired,’ nudges your inner demon into commenting, ‘Why would you be any more tired than anyone else?’ And so, in a kind of schvitzing panic, she said: ‘I can’t because my shrink told me not to.’

Unwittingly, she played a blinder. How do you argue with that?  If you push and nag and pester then you are threatening to derail someone’s mental well-being as advised by a professional. And that is not OK. And, it seems, the shame in passing on the directive of a therapist is far lighter than some flimsy, flappety hand-wringing, wriggling and squirming. 

‘Will you have sex with me?’ My shrink told me not to. ‘Can you lend me some money?’ My shrink told me not to. ‘Why do you never answer the phone?’ My shrink told me not to... Try it. Turns out it’s an inimitable way to look after yourself. But do us a favour, and keep  it to yourselves. Don’t abuse it. Or it  will lose its power. And we’ll have to think of another way to get out of almost anything. 

How to get out of almost anything

Claustrophobia

Is there anything more useful? We’re not sure. This will get you out of camping, caravanning, the Underground, sharing a bed, sitting in the middle of a banquette (*starts sweating*), changing rooms, leggings, long queues, complicated underwear. ‘I’m claustrophobic.’ That’s all.

Allergies

Gosh, you look a little stressed/teary/mental, observes someone. ‘It’s just my allergies.’ Not: ‘I am having a mini breakdown, can’t sleep, hate all my clothes, mislaid my phone for at least a second and have been crying on and off for weeks.’ See? ‘Allergies’ is better.

Novel

I have to work on my novel. I’ve done 35,000 words/almost finished the third draft/am deep, deep into the story arc/feel I need to sit and really inhabit the characters. After this, no one will want to see you anyway.

IBS

Sorry I can’t eat your terrible dinner, have those carbs, go to that restaurant, eat out, go out, see anyone ever again. It’s my IBS.

The Dog

I can’t leave the dog/bring the dog/sorry, the dog. The dog, the dog. And if I do come, all I will talk about is the dog. The dog, the dog. So sorry. The dog. (As a dog bore,   no one will want to see you – but that’s OK, because then it can be just you and the dog.)

Mercury is in retrograde

It is*. (*It isn’t. Until 3 December but no one need know.) So I can’t make any big decisions, otherwise the universe will  slam me down. Also, brace yourself for  3 December. Whether or not you believe in horoscopes, Mercury is a bastard.

Hormones

Pre-hormonal, during-hormonal, post-hormonal, peri-menopausal, actually menopausal, full-moon hormonal, totally out of your sodding mind hormonal. Flash your period tracker app at someone saying, ‘See, see, see?’ No one ‘really’ understands what they are looking at, so watch as your evening/lunch/workout vanishes into blissfully thin air. Your time is now your own. Enjoy the sofa. You are welcome.

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