Dear Daphne,
My partner insists on narrating everything he’s doing out loud, from cooking to cleaning to putting his shoes on. It’s like living with a one-man podcast all the time. How do I make him stop before I lose my mind?!
Laura, Clifton.
Dear Laura,
Ah, the domestic commentator. Every home has one, and sadly they don’t come with a mute button. It always starts innocently enough with, “just popping the kettle on,” but before you know it, you’re trapped in a 24-hour live broadcast of their every move.
You have two options here. The diplomatic route is to tell him gently that you love his enthusiasm, but you need a bit of quiet to think sometimes. Blame it on work stress, or say your brain’s running out of storage space. Some people genuinely don’t realise they’re doing it until someone points it out to them.
If that doesn’t work, then humour is your secret weapon. The next time he starts narrating, join in with your best Attenborough impression: “And here we observe the wild male in his natural habitat, approaching the toaster with courage and poor aim.” He’ll either laugh and tone it down, or realise how ridiculous he sounds and stop altogether.
Either way, he’ll learn that life doesn’t need full commentary. You’re his partner, not his podcast audience. Remind him that silence is golden — or at least a welcome change from his morning monologue.
Love, Daphne
Dear Daphne,
My colleague keeps microwaving fish at work, and the smell lingers for hours. We’ve hinted, joked, even sprayed air freshener, but she doesn’t take the hint. I’m starting to dread lunch. How do I tell her without making her hate me or starting a full-blown HR case?
Paul, Huntington.
Dear Paul,
You’re right to tread carefully, because nothing divides an office faster than a strong-smelling lunch. The problem with people who microwave fish is that they have no idea they’re doing anything wrong. They probably think everyone enjoys eau de mackerel with their sandwiches.
You’ve already tried the gentle route, so now it’s time for honesty with a smile. Catch her when she’s alone, not mid-salmon, and say something like, “You’ll laugh at this, but the fish smell really hangs around and a few of us are struggling with it. Would you mind switching it up now and again?” Deliver it kindly, as though you’re letting her in on a joke, not staging an intervention.
If she ignores you, bring in an ally from the team — someone who can casually mention the same thing in conversation. A united front works wonders.
And if all else fails, leave a discreet bowl of vinegar or coffee grounds near the microwave. It absorbs the smell and creates the illusion that someone cleaned. Think of it as passive-aggressive science.
Love, Daphne
Dear Daphne,
My best friend has just started seeing someone new, and now I only see her in the form of double dates and shared selfies. I’m happy for her, but I miss our time together. How do I tell her I’m gutted we no longer spend time together without sounding like a total nag and a drain?
Ella, Holgate.
Dear Ella,
Ah, the best-friend-turned-girlfriend dilemma – a tale as old as time. One minute it’s movie nights and wine on the sofa, and the next she’s off having “couples brunch” with someone who still uses emojis unironically. Don’t take it personally; she’s not forgotten you, she’s just temporarily high on new love.
Send her a light, warm message that makes your point without guilt-tripping. Try something like, “Hey up stranger, I promise I don’t bite lol! Fancy a catch-up before your other half realises I’m the funny one?” It’s funny, honest, and gets your message across in a light hearted way.
If she’s a good friend, she’ll make the effort. If she doesn’t, step back and let her orbit Planet Boyfriend for a while. The honeymoon glow always fades into something more normal and usually about the same time she realises her partner thinks ‘meal prep’ is just buying crisps and noodles in bulk. She’ll be back soon enough, desperate for a debrief and your judgement-free company.
You’re not losing her, you’re just giving her a brief holiday in coupledom. Keep the door open and the Prosecco chilled and she’ll soon return.
Love, Daphne
Dear Daphne,
I joined my local gym to get fit, but it feels like my personal trainer spends more time flirting than coaching. Last week he called me “babe” mid-squat. Do I call him out, switch trainers, or just start running in the opposite direction and find a new gym?
Nina, Fulford.
Dear Nina,
Oh Nina I feel your pain! The gym flirt is that universal species who confuses personal training with personal dating. Compliments are fine, but if your workout starts sounding like a rom-com audition, it’s time to remind him who’s paying who.
Next time he calls you“babe,” give him a sweet smile and say, “Save the compliments for someone who’s not doing lunges.” If he laughs and changes tack, great. If he doubles down, that’s your cue to have a word with the manager. Just explain that you’d feel more comfortable with another trainer. Keep it calm, professional, and let them handle the awkwardness.
You’re there to sweat, not flirt. A good trainer should help you lift weights, not his ego! You deserve someone who respects your goals and not someone who treats your gym session like the warm-up to a date.
Love, Daphne
Dear Daphne,
Ever since I met this one guy and we had an incredibly awkward conversation in the lift at work, he’s been playing a different character every time I see him on our way up to the office in the morning. How do I stop dealing with The Plumber, The Electrician or Kermit the Frog, and start talking to Jonathon, or heaven forbid get a bit of P and Q?
Sarah, Peasholme.
Dear Sarah,
There’s something about lifts that turns normal people into complete oddballs. The silence, the awkward eye contact, the lingering smell of someone’s aftershave – it’s social purgatory. Sadly, your colleague has decided to fill that void by auditioning for Britain’s Got No Boundaries.
The golden rule with attention-seekers is simple: starve them of attention. When he starts performing, don’t give him so much as a smirk. No eye contact, no laughter, not even a polite “morning.” Look at your phone, check your watch, or stare at the floor numbers as if your life depends on them. Silence is his kryptonite.
If he still doesn’t get the hint, try snapping him out of character with a cheerful, “Morning, Jonathon! Busy day?” Use his real name and an entirely serious tone. It’ll confuse him more than any sarcasm could.
Eventually, he’ll run out of steam. Even the most committed amateur actor can’t keep performing when his audience refuses to clap. Hold your ground, darling as the curtain will fall soon enough!
Love, Daphne
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