You Said “I’m Fine” and Somehow Started a Game of Charades

Let’s say you’re upset with a man, which would be simple enough if you planned to tell him. But for some strange reason, you’ve chosen another route.

“I’m fine.”

You say this calmly, with the sort of composure that would be very convincing if absolutely everything else about you were not saying, I am so far from fine that fine has packed a small bag and left the building.

He looks at you. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

And really, this is his last chance.

He does not know that, of course, because nobody has explained that the conversation has now become a game of charades. Still, you were secretly hoping for more from him.

Two Words, First Word

At first, the clues are subtle.

You become a little quieter. Your answers lose several unnecessary syllables. Things begin to be placed on tables with unusual care.

He asks what you want for dinner.

“Whatever you want.”

Interesting answer, because there is absolutely something you want, and it is not dinner.

He suggests Italian and you give him a perfectly controlled “Sure,” which is, of course, wrong. He has no idea why it is wrong; the poor man does not even know there is a correct answer. Meanwhile, from your side of the room, you are giving what feels like a magnificent performance.

Two words.

First word.

Sounds like: You forgot what I told you three days ago and I would like you to realize this entirely on your own.

He guesses pasta.

No.

Honestly.

So you try another clue: a slightly longer silence, a meaningful glance toward nowhere in particular, perhaps a kitchen cabinet closing with just a little more enthusiasm than the kitchen cabinet deserved. Surely now he will catch up.

He looks over. “Everything okay?”

“I said I’m fine.”

Well.

You did.

This is becoming awkward for the judges.

He Keeps Guessing the Wrong Thing

The trouble with relationship charades is that every missed clue creates another clue. He misses the silence, so naturally the silence gets longer. “Whatever” does not seem to be working either, so you give that a little more feeling the next time around. Meanwhile, he cheerfully continues with his evening, which seems an extraordinary choice considering the performance currently taking place six feet away.

By now, the original thing is almost beside the point. You are also annoyed that he has somehow failed to notice you are annoyed, and this is how one small problem suddenly starts needing extra rooms.

When he asks whether you want to watch something, you tell him, “No, you go ahead,” by which you naturally mean, I would like you to abandon television immediately and ask me exactly the right question.

He hears: She doesn’t want to watch television.

Amateur.

You sit nearby looking beautifully unavailable while he actually watches television. The game is not going well, so naturally you decide the answer is to give him better clues. Not clear clues, obviously—that would ruin everything—but something he really ought to be able to work with.

“Nothing. Forget it.”

This is obviously not an invitation to forget anything. Quite the opposite. Right now, remembering is the whole point.

But he nods. “All right.”

Oh, now we have a problem.

Because the man has taken “forget it” and, without a second thought, forgotten it.

Madam, He Guessed “Fine”

By now, charades has become a full evening’s entertainment. You have performed silence, “nothing,” “do whatever you want,” and possibly the advanced category known as I’m not mad, which really deserves its own little velvet curtain.

And still he has not reached the answer.

Eventually, one rather annoying little detail wanders into the game: the only clear clue you actually gave him was “I’m fine.”

Everything after that required him to read your tone, remember several earlier conversations, notice exactly how you were looking at him and, ideally, become unusually gifted at eyebrow interpretation.

Of course the answer seems obvious from your side of the room. You already know what it is, which gives you a rather unfair advantage in charades.

The person acting out Gone with the Wind cannot understand why everyone else keeps shouting Titanic. Look at the gestures! How much clearer could this possibly be?

And that is more or less what happens with “I’m fine.” Half the time, you are not even trying to hide what you feel. You would be delighted if he discovered it. You just want him to discover it without being told—quickly, correctly, and preferably with a thoughtful expression suggesting he has also understood several earlier rounds you did not realize were still open.

Really, it is a little unfair to hand a man the word fine, keep the real answer behind your back, and then look wounded because he has not developed telepathy before dinner.

Of course, he is still expected to listen, notice and generally be in the room. But if you want him to know what you mean, at some point you may have to give him the actual clue.

Otherwise, he is going to keep guessing from what you actually said.

And, annoyingly enough, “fine” sounds an awful lot like fine.

The kitchen cabinet, meanwhile, has been through enough.