I rely upon it. It's a fair bet your man does, too.
Schooled by Jane Austen in the ways of finessing men, some enterprising lass will try to "finesse" me instead of simply conversing like an adult.
"Oh, I was just really hoping we'd go to the Dahlia. But Waldo's is good, too. We'll have fun at Waldo's. Love you!"Or
Translation: "Waldo's? Are you serious? I never want to hear about Waldo's again. Christ."
"You're welcome to come, of course, but why do you want to? You won't know anyone but me, and I'll be busy. I think you'd be uncomfortable."There are many advantages to being male. Women's reproductive plumbing tops my list, and most days the shorter life expectancy is welcome, too. But right up there is the Obtuse Dumb Guy expectation. So little is thought of my gender by certain members of the other, when I pretend not to understand what she wants me to do, it's completely plausible.
Translation: "You are decidedly not welcome to come, as the guy I'm hoping to fuck instead of you will be there."
I use this as a form of punishment. Insult my intelligence with this circumlocutious manipulation crap, will you? Here's a full dose of Obtuse Dumb Guy. He doesn't get it. No matter how much you dumb down your machinations, he will just not get it. Thus my normal response of
"Oh, you wanted to go to the Dahlia? That's a much better idea. I'll do Waldo's some other time."becomes a vindictive
"Okay, Waldo's it is! And it's your turn to treat, remember."Postscript: Jane Austen died alone at 41.