My girlfriend called me at lunchtime today. From the tone of her voice she had either recently been crying or was just about to. I was genuinely concerned, although it quickly became apparent that the source of her distress was yours truly. Apparently I had upset her that morning and, over the ensuing hours apart, those ill feelings had compounded and swelled until now they had reached tipping point.

I had been a touch grouchy when I woke up, a sentiment that only grew when I realised that, with precious minutes available for error, I had to iron a shirt. I set the ironing board up and lay out my selected piece of clothing – a rather fetching pink number from H&M – and as I began my labours I was aware that my girlfriend had stopped what she was doing and was preparing to watch me work. No chance, I was in no mood for her to stand there and point out the inadequacies of my domestic abilities (and in fact I rather pride myself on maintaining an above average proficiency wielding said utensil).

‘Please don't stand there and watch me,’ I said, and she turned and walked into the living room. I proceeded with my ironing and the day progressed from there without incident. Or so I thought. Little did I know that my, I thought fairly direct, non hostile request, had triggered a ticking time bomb of fury within the lady that was not primed to explode for another 4 hours.

After she explained this to me over the phone, I did my best to remain calm and unchallenged and asked her why she hadn't said anything that morning. If I had upset her she should have let me know and we could have averted a whole morning of emotional upheaval. This was not only stupid on my part, but as I was about to realise, deeply hypocritical. It wasn't my action this morning that had upset her, but rather that it was symptomatic of a bigger problem. Apparently of late I had started to change, started to be less tactile, less affectionate and had failed to frequently serenade her with what she calls ‘sweet words.’ Apparently I was taking her for granted.

From my point of view the situation looked rather different. I work a ten-hour day, only to come home and have to work for another couple of hours at home. I am also a fervent believer in ‘fire-gazing’ – that private time man needs in the evening to sit and just do nothing, on his own, undisturbed. But more than all of that I was beginning to get twitchy about losing my personal space and freedoms. It is one thing to have my girlfriend stay over, whether it be a week night or weekend, but my routine must remain the same. I simply don't have the breadth in my schedule for much 1-on-1 time once dinner has been enjoyed and we are both home. After all, the money to pay for that dinner has to come from somewhere.

I am also reluctant to relinquish control of my home. Last year I started seeing a girl who within the space of a few weeks had started barking orders at me in my own home - ‘Take your shoes off’, ‘Don't put that mug of coffee on there’ and the like. I'm sorry but in my apartment that I pay for I'll do whatever the hell I want. Suffice to say she didn't last long. Now, my current girlfriend is a far cry from that nasty piece of work – I am reluctant to mention the two on the same page. I'm a very lucky man to be with her, but that previous tall drink of psycho left me very wary of encroaching female influence within my carefully constructed and alphabetised existence.

Put simply, being single makes you cripplingly self-centred and selfish. You have nobody's opinion to consider but your own, nobody's feelings to worry about, nobody to disappoint and nobody to keep you in check. You become more impulsive but also more self-serving. The adjustment away from that can be drawn-out, painful and sometimes not worth the effort. You have to start doing things you don't want to, going places you don't like and freeing up your personal space to an invading force, determined to rummage through your stuff, examine it with judgmental interest before returning it to the wrong place.

This ‘opening up’ leaves a man vulnerable to criticism. Women encourage us to do it, only to then stab us in the ribs once our guard is down. Perhaps we are not the best cleaners in the world or the finest cooks or have the best taste in curtains, but a man's tastes and demands become far simpler when he is single, our necessities become more streamlined and sadly make us easy prey for women intent on polishing their frog in the hope of discovering a prince.

This is what motivated me to shoo her away as I unsheathed my iron and prepared to de-crease my work shirt this morning. I anticipated a barrage of criticism that I was ill-equipped to accommodate at such an early hour. In effect, I was protecting her. I see now that it was a schoolboy error that not only hurt her feelings but left her feeling rejected and discarded when she may have been simply curious as to my proficiency at household chores. The error of my ways is now painfully obvious. I should have simply relinquished my aspirations of being a self-sufficient, all-conquering male and just handed the iron over to her. Suffice to say, I've learnt my lesson.