He eats like three people, yet only cares about himself Im not a wife, just a wandering pantry.
I thought the fridge locks were a jokeanother absurd meme floating online. Then I saw one with my own eyes: a steel padlock with a tiny key in a hardware store. I stood there, staring, and for the first time I seriously wondered: what if I bought it? Not to protect the kids food or keep out thieves, but to guard my own husband
My name is Élodie, Im thirty, and I live in Lyon with my husband and our daughter. I work hard, hustle like a devil in a holy water font, as we say back home. Yet despite all the hustle, the thing that drains me most isnt the job or my childits the man I share the house with. My husband, Théo, sees nothing and no one beyond his plate. He eats. Constantly. Without judgment, without limits, without remorse.
I come home exhausted, knowing theres a little stash left in the fridge for dinnera piece of meat, some cheese, maybe a yoghurt for my girl. But when I swing the door open, its empty. Not just a bit usedcompletely gone. Silently, without warning, he devoured everything. Overnight. Sausages, cheese, even the raspberries I bought for my daughtervanished as if sucked into a black hole.
The other day I bought strawberries for my little one. You know how pricey they are out of season? Shed seen them at the market and begged for them. I couldnt say no. At home she ate them delicately, with pure joy I had set some aside for the next day, tucked in the fridge. In the morning the bowl was empty. Hed eaten them all, down to the last one, then had the nerve to laugh: Just buy more! Weve got the money, whats the problem?
The problem, Théo, is that you never think! Not about your daughter, not about me! You dont ask, you dont consider, you just gulp everything down as if it were your right. And Im reduced to a cook, always buying and preparing. You finished the last salamiso what? No remorse, no effort to make up for it.
He grew up with a mother who overfed him without restraint from childhoodhuge portions, sweets everywhere. He was once tall and athletic, but the habits linger. Me? Ive always favored moderation. I try to raise my daughter that waywithout excess, with awareness. Yet with her father she learns the opposite: swallow everything, instantly.
Its not about money. We lack nothing: I work at a design agency, he at a transport company, our incomes are steady. Its about respect. About thinking of others before yourself. Do you see a clue? Ask yourself who the food is for. Your daughter wanted it? Your wife set it aside? Is that really so hard?
Here I am again in front of the fridge. Still empty. Still that searing, silent anger rising inside me. Ive had enough. I didnt marry to become a housekeeper. I wanted to be a loved woman, a mother, a partner. Not a food supplier for a man who sees this house only as a plate and a couch.
I told him: you dont live as a family, you live like a bachelor with free access to our fridge. He shrugged: Youre a bad housekeeper if the food doesnt stay. Good wives always have something to eat on hand. Really? Then why not buy a washing machine to replace the wife?
Lately I wonder: maybe I dont need a fridge lock, but a key to my own life. A life where Im not condemned to serve, where my wishes matter to someone, where Im not just a spouse but a person who is heard and respected.
