After my wife and I got married, things couldnt have been better. Wed tied the knot with the idea of living with her parents for a while. Meanwhile, my mum and dad were relocating to the seaside, and their flat was sold, with the proceeds split between me and my sister. With that moneyplus a little help from my father-in-lawwe managed to buy a spacious one-bedroom flat in London. We put up a partition to create two rooms, thinking one would be for a future childbut somehow, that never quite happened.
At first, we just werent ready. Then our careers took off, leaving little time. Before we knew it, years had slipped by, and my wife refused to even discuss seeing a doctor. Frankly, I wasnt keen either. We were perfectly happy as we were, and neither of us lost sleep over whod bring us a glass of water in our old age. Our friends with kidsdrowning in debt and perpetually exhausteddidnt exactly sell the idea either. So, we settled on skipping that particular brand of happiness, since life seemed content to steer us elsewhere.
By the time we hit thirty-three, wed invested in a swanky new apartment block. It wasnt a huge sum, but enough to feel like a gambleespecially since half our mates warned us against it. Still, by thirty-seven, we had a pristine flat ready to go. A lick of paint later, it looked positively dreamy. My wife joked it was our insurance policyeither for hypothetical kids or, failing that, our nieces and nephews someday.
For now, we decided to rent it out. We figured wed skip the estate agents and handle it ourselves. Mistake number one? Mentioning it to friends for marketing tips. Next thing we knew, we were fielding awkward requestslike the one from our mates with three kids and a hyperactive spaniel, desperate to move in. Theyd been stuck in mould-ridden rentals for years, and suddenly our placefreshly renovated, no lessseemed like their golden ticket.
*Its only one bedroomyoud be cramped,* my wife tried.
*So? Were in a studio now. Your photos make yours look palatial!*
*But its brand-new, and youve got kids and a dog.*
*What, you think were animals wholl trash the place?*
We stalled, claiming we needed to think it overthough my mind was made up. Id been to theirs. Their idea of tidying was shoving laundry behind the sofa. Eventually, my wife dumped the unenviable task of saying *no* squarely on me.
The response? A masterpiece of misplaced outrage:
*Youve got a second flat, your parents will leave you theirs one day, and still youre greedy! Youll hoard properties, grow old alone, and die miserable with no kids, no friends, and no joy!*
Charming. Heres the thingwe owe them nothing. Their life choices (kids without a stable home or parental support) arent our problem. If we want to rent to a stranger at market rate rather than slash the price for mates rates, thats our prerogative. Since when did *our* flat become their entitlement?
