For Five Years, She Thought She Was Living with Her Husband—But Discovered She Wanted Him to Be Like Her Mum

Author Walton MerrittReading 5 minViews 1

For five years, she believed she was living with her husband, but the truth was, shed wanted to live with him the way she had with her mother.

Eleanor grew up in a small English town. It was there that Cupids arrow found her. She fell deeply for Alexander, and he loved her in return. Together, they decided it was time to leave their quiet hometown behind. They told their parents they were off to London to earn enough for a proper wedding. And, true enough, they went with that goal in mind. But later, they changed their minds: why spend all their savings on one day?

They did whats now considered fashionablegot married in trainers and jeans, asked for gifts in cash, and instead of a grand reception, laid on a simple buffet. The money from their loved ones went straight to paying off their mortgage. Still, when they visited their hometown, their mothers hosted a modest yet heartfelt celebration for them.

Five years slipped by. The couple decided to wait before thinking of children, chipping away at their mortgage because the wedding gifts hadnt covered everything. Eleanors mother, a spirited woman who had raised her on her own, never let a phone call end without hinting at her hopes for grandchildren. Eleanor, though, didnt feel ready, and there was no need to rush.

Suddenly, Eleanor began to find fault with Alexander in ways shed managed to ignore before. One evening, she rang me and said:

Hell spend ages chatting away with other people on the phone, but with me its just hello, goodbye, and thats it
When hes home from work, surely you have plenty of time to talk, dont you?
I always fancy watching a romance film after a long day, but he just wants to lose himself in horror movies instead.
Dont you have more than one telly? And these days, you could each watch whatever you like on your own laptops with headphones. Still, its not much of a family life if youre both sitting in the same room, staring in opposite directions.

Thats exactly my point! I dont think Alex really understands me!
Thats certainly an interesting perspective.
Why are you laughing?
Alright, Ill stop. Eleanor, when do you actually enjoy spending time together?
On holiday, or when we have friends over Hes so thoughtful then

We talked for nearly an hour. She told me how theyd met and how all the other girls had envied her. Gradually, I realised Eleanor had an unfulfilled desire to show off for others. That was one problemthere was also another

Eleanor, whats your idea of a perfect marriage?
Oh, its simply got to include children.
Thats what people say, but you know, many marriages fall apart after the kids arrive
A husband should be interested in my mood, how things are going at work He should notice my outfits and compliment my cooking
Doesnt he appreciate what you do?
Hell say dinners nice and all that, but for me, that isnt enough.
So, walk me through this Say he comes home, youve made him bangers and mash, and then what happens?
He rubs his hands together and grins.
Well, thats a compliment if you ask me! Wouldnt it be worse if he pushed the plate away and announced he wasnt hungry?

Eleanor grew quiet, perhaps unsure about the real reason for her complaints. She did hold something against her husband, but I couldnt quite put my finger on it. To check my hunch, I asked about her relationship with her mother.

I learned Eleanors mother was the emotional type, always fussing over her with constant questions and advice, but always there with comforting words when things went awry. Sometimes people say we marry those who remind us of our parents, hoping to find the same love we knew as children. Having been raised without a father, Eleanor expected everyone to be as expressive as her motherbut not everyone is.

I told Eleanor that for five years, shed been married to her mother in all but name, wanting her husband to act just as her mum did. At first, she was shocked, but after a pause, she nodded in agreement.

So how do I finally separate from my mum?
Its simple. Every time you feel annoyed, picture that its not Alexander at allits your caring mother sitting beside you. He can never quite compete with her!
That makes sense!
And thats all there is to it. Soon youll find your complaints simply drift away.

In life, we sometimes seek in others what were missing from the past, unknowingly setting them impossible standards. True harmony is found when we cherish people for who they truly arenot for who we wish them to be.

The Nuisance Next Door “Don’t you dare touch my spectacles!” shrieked my ex-friend. “Mind your own eyes! Think I don’t see who you’re ogling?” “Are you actually jealous?” wondered Tamara Brown. “Now I see who’s caught your fancy! I know what I’ll get you for Christmas—a lip-zipping machine!” “Why not keep it for yourself?” retorted Lynda. “Or maybe there’s no machine that could handle those lips of yours? Think I don’t see?” Old Mrs. Tamara swung her legs off the battered bed and made her way to her home altar to read her morning prayer. She wouldn’t have called herself particularly religious: there was definitely something out there, someone calling the shots. But who? That was anyone’s guess. This driving power went by many names: fate, the universe, and of course, the Good Lord! Yes, a kindly old gentleman with a white beard and a halo, sitting on his cloud and keeping an eye on everyone here on Earth. Besides, Tamara was deep into her autumn years, approaching seventy. And at that age, best not to quarrel with the Almighty. After all, if He doesn’t exist, believers lose nothing. But if He does, unbelievers lose everything. At the end of her morning prayers, Tamara always added a few words of her own—why not? Ritual complete, and her soul at ease—it was time to face another day. Tamara Brown’s life was troubled by two things. And no, not the usual suspects—roads and fools—no, those problems were old news. Hers were: her neighbour Lynda, and her own grandchildren. With the grandkids, fair enough: today’s youth can be a pain. But at least they had parents—let them deal with it! But Lynda was an entirely different breed of headache: a neighbour who could get on anyone’s last nerve. Only in films do catfights between old dames look sweet; in reality, it’s something else entirely. Especially when you’re being picked on for no rhyme or reason. And then there was her old mate, Peter “Moped Pete”. His full Sunday name was Peter Ernest Champion. (It’s a real surname!) His nickname was easy enough to figure out: in his youth, Pete Champion—what a combo—was mad about his moped. Or, as cheeky young Pete used to call it, his “mopeddy”. The name stuck, and long after Pete’s rusty old moped gathered dust in the shed, the nickname clung to him—ah, the joys of country life! They used to be close friends: “Mopeddy” and his wife Nina, Tamara and her husband. But their partners had long since taken up residence in the local cemetery. Still, Tamara kept up with Mopeddy, having known him since school, and a better friend than Pete was hard to find. Back in their schooldays, they were an inseparable trio: Tamara, Pete, and Lynda—just pure old-fashioned friendship, without a hint of anything else. They went everywhere together: Pete in the middle, the two ladies on each arm, like a teacup with two handles. There are special cups like that—so they never slip from your grasp! Over the years, the friendship changed. Or rather, it ended—thanks mainly to Lynda, who first grew cold, then outright hostile after her husband’s passing. It was like that cartoon: I’ve started noticing, it’s as if someone’s swapped her out… Something in Lynda broke. She’d grown mean and spiteful—maybe it happens to some. Ladies can be like that. Gents too. And there was plenty to envy. First, despite her age, Tamara stayed trim while Lynda had grown… let’s say, well-rounded. “Madam, where shall we find your waist?” Not flattering by comparison. Second, their mutual school friend recently favoured quick-witted Tamara with more attention than Lynda. They’d share conspiratorial laughs and seemed practically glued at the head. With Lynda, conversation was terse and chilly. Besides, Pete popped by Tamara’s much more often, rarely needing much encouragement. Well, maybe she wasn’t as clever as witty Tamara—or as funny! Pete always loved a good laugh. There’s a fine old English idiom for Lynda’s new behaviour: nit-picking. She’d become a champion of petty grievances. First, she complained the loo in Tamara’s garden smelled awful. — “Your loo’s ponging again!” called Lynda. — “It’s stood there for years—you only just noticed?” said Tamara, biting back with, “Ah yes—your cataract surgery was free! You get what you pay for!” — “Don’t you dare touch my spectacles!” screamed her former friend. “You look after your own eyes! Think I don’t see who you’re staring at?” —“Are you jealous or something?” asked Tamara. “Well, I know just what to get you for Christmas: a lip-zipping machine!” —“Keep it for yourself!” Lynda fired back. “Or maybe nothing could fix those lips! Think I don’t see?” And on, and on… Pete suggested filling in the outside loo and having one built in the house. Tamara’s children helped fund it, and the family friend Pete did the digging. Problem solved—or so one would hope. But no! It was the pear tree branches next—supposedly damaged by Tamara’s grandchildren. —“They must’ve thought it was ours!” Tamara tried to explain. Though she wasn’t convinced—nothing looked robbed to her. “Look, your hens peck through my veg patch, and I never complain!” —“Chickens are stupid creatures—nothing but egg-layers,” shot back Lynda. “Grandma, you ought to mind the grandchildren, not giggle with gents all day!” So it went. The grandkids got a scolding; pear season came and went; and then Lynda found “damage” to the branches. —“Where? Show me!” asked Tamara. She couldn’t see a thing, but Lynda jabbed a knobbly finger vaguely in their direction. Old Peter, always diplomatic, suggested lopping off the branches that hung over Tamara’s fence. —“She’ll only shout again!” sighed Tamara. —“Wanna bet?” grinned Pete. “I’ll back you up!” Just as predicted, Lynda huffed but stayed silent as Pete did the sawing. Peace? Not quite. Tamara soon had her own vexation: Lynda’s new breed of chickens were tearing up her veg patch. She politely asked Lynda to keep them in check. Lynda just sneered, “What are you gonna do about it?” Now, Tamara was too kind for drastic measures—like roasting an offending hen. Instead, clever Pete suggested the latest online hack: plant a few eggs on the veg patch overnight, then collect them in the morning as proof. It worked: the next morning, Lynda’s jaw dropped as Tamara collected a bowlful of “garden-fresh eggs”. The hens never reappeared. Maybe now they could be friends again? Not a chance. Now the neighbour complained about the smoke and smell from Tamara’s summer kitchen. —“Since when do you notice? Never bothered you before. Maybe the whiff of roast beef bothers me too! Ever think of that, Miss Vegetarian?” At last, Tamara’s patience snapped. Lynda, quite simply, “had gone off the rails”—another wonderful English phrase. Over tea with Pete, Tamara joked, “Maybe she should be sent off for scientific research—she’ll end up devouring me whole!” —”She’d choke on you! And I’d never let it happen,” Pete reassured her. “But I’ve got a better idea!” A few days later, Tamara heard Pete calling out: “Tammy, Tammy, come outside!” There he was, beaming, on his newly mended vintage moped—Pete and his Mopeddy! —“You know why I’ve been so glum?” he grinned. “My moped’s been broken all this time!” —“Hop on, beautiful, let’s go for a ride! Let’s relive our youth!” And hop on she did! After all, old age has now been officially abolished by Parliament: everyone’s an active pensioner at 65+! Tamara rode off, quite literally, into her new life. Soon, she became Mrs. Champion herself: Peter Ernest Champion popped the question! Old puzzle pieces fell into place, and Tamara moved in with her husband. And Lynda? Well, she stayed behind—a lonely, chubby, bitter old biddy. Now, if that’s not a reason for a new bout of jealousy, what is? With no one left to squabble with, Lynda had to stew alone, her toxic sniping bottled up inside. No more sparring partners… So hang on tight, Tammy, and don’t step out of the house! Who knows what else the village will bring? Life here is a soap opera set to music. All that fuss about the loo for nothing…