LIKE Great Britain and the US, men and women are divided by a common language, and that chasm will widen as the social calendar gears up in the coming weeks.

Faced with an invitation, a woman says: "But I haven't a thing to wear." The average male's response involves puzzlement; the size of the wardrobe where her clothes hang and the amount therein; the last thing she bought (if he remembers what it was or is actually aware of its acquisition) and, maybe, words about money.

He hasn't, sadly, understood a word she said.

That phrase: "I haven't a thing to wear" carries with it a whole load of unsaid baggage. Before the woman opens her mouth to say: "But" she has, instantaneously:

a) mentally assessed the venue and status of the event in question;

b) done a quick survey of the local social scene and which other women are likely to be there;

c) had a go at remembering what they all wore at the last similar bash;

d) remembered what she wore for it;

e) done a comprehensive review of her current wardrobe and realised that the only suitable outfit is what she wore last time.

Ergo, she has nothing to wear.

Poor men. The simplicity of their own decision - if it's formal, it's the suit - blunts their comprehension. The only thing they ever think twice about is which tie to put on.

Fortunately, our social life doesn't involve "occasions". I know this because, when I look at the rails marked "occasionwear" in clothes shops, I see my wardrobe doesn't contain one such item. If it did, however, I can't think of anything on our calendar between now and Christmas when I would wear it.

Should the need arise for one of those strappy, silky dresses, generally in black or the darker shades of jewel colours, I genuinely wouldn't have a thing to wear. A swift raid on the local nearly-new establishments would be indicated, as I wouldn't expect to get a lot of wear out of it.

This week, I discovered that "occasionwear" isn't the only glaring omission from the Cave wardrobe. I haven't got any "loungewear" either. If I get the wonderful chance of an evening slobbing around the house, reading, watching TV, drinking coffee, my idea of comfort is some jeans old enough to be soft, a T-shirt and a baggy sweater. If it's lateish when I get round to "lounging" I may even lounge in what's known in the family as "deshabils" - my T-shirt style nightie and a plain fleece dressing gown.

Oh dear, oh dear. I am letting the side down.

"Loungewear", it seems, involves satin, silk, lace, frills, marabou even. Fine, it could be fun and you'd feel like a million dollars - until it came to all the handwashing and drycleaning. I'll stick to old jeans.