So, youll never believe what happened yesterdayhonestly, its got me still shaking my head. Id decided to bake a cakebeen ages since I treated the family to something sweet. The weather was lovely, I was in a proper good mood, and my granddaughter was playing in the next room. Everything was ready to go… except the eggs. I opened the fridge, and poofgone. Id set them aside just that morning so no one would nick them. But nothing.
Naturally, I asked my daughter-in-law if shed moved them or used them. And oh, the drama! She went off on one: What, youre begrudging your own granddaughter eggs? She had scrambled eggs for breakfast! I was gobsmacked. Honestly, my heart sank. I snapped back, Thats ridiculous Yeah, I couldnt help it. Harsh word, but what do you say when youre called tight-fisted over two eggs *you* bought?
Then she drops this: Right, Im getting my own fridge, and well all just eat our own stuff! Can you imagine? Under the same roof, in the same flat, with separate fridges? Thats not familythats housemates. And all because I dared ask where the eggs went.
Im not exactly young anymore. I live modestly, no frills. This flats all Ive gotgot it years ago, pure luck, really. I scrape by on my pension, watching every penny. I hunt for bargains at the market, clip coupons. The younger lot? Theyre too busy, always knackered from work. I get itmy sons at the office dawn till dusk, trying to keep them afloat. No chance of them moving out anytime soon, not with rents through the roof and mortgages out of reach. So its the four of us in this two-bed: me, my son, his wife, and my granddaughter. I try to stay out the way, not be a bother. Truth be told, I even like the company.
But living together isnt just sharing a kitchen or a loo. Its respect. Its remembering an old womans got her own needs, her own waysand yes, the right to bake a bloody cake. And now, a row over two eggs. Not the first time, eithera missing pan, a borrowed saucepan, ingredients Id set aside for dinner, gone. Usually, I bite my tongue. But this time? Nah. Because its not about eggs, or fridges, or cake.
Its about being thought of. About spending your whole life caring, feeding, raising, only to be called stingy. Never turned them away, did I? Shared my home, my things, made do. And now Im meant to eat separately, live separately, keep to myself?
I know were different generations. Theyve got their ways, Ive got mine. But familys not about fridges. Or who ate what. Its respect. A bit of kindness. A ta now and then. Im not asking for bows and curtsies. But stingy? That stings. Proper does.
So now? Im done. If they eat everything, fine. If theres nowt left, Ill have toast. Eat together? Let them eat alone. But they should knowits not because Im petty or tight. Its their choice. They wanted this. And me? Ill remember. And Ill learn.
Lifes funny, isnt it? Respect vanishes quicker than its earned. But a family doesnt split over eggsor over anything, really.
