My husband, James Turner, tells me hes grown bored with me, and Im so changed now that Im bored with him. About two years ago, James drops a line Ill never forget: You live so predictably Im tired of you. Even though he finds our life dull, Im pleased with it. Every morning I get up early, have tea and toast, do my stretches and dress for work. First I get James ready for his early shift, then I see to my own preparations. We cook every meal at home; I pack a secondbreakfast snack for both of us in reusable tins. Each evening on the way home I pop into the corner shop, then I cook, tidy and do the laundry. Before bed we watch a film and then turn out the lights.
Im convinced Im right. Everything is pictureperfect: James looks sharp and fed, the house is neat and comfortable. What more could I want? Every Saturday I deepclean the whole house, bake something delicious and whip up a big dinner. In the evenings we invite friends over or head out into town. On Sundays we visit our parentshalf the day at my mums in Surrey, the other half at my dads in Kenthelping with chores, chatting and enjoying family time.
Evenings are spent relaxing at home. We never argue or shout. Our home feels calm and harmonious. Then, one afternoon, James declares hes bored with me. He spends hours telling me hes unhappy, citing his mates who party every night, live it up and feel fulfilled, unlike us who never quarrel. He simply walks out that day.
Im perfectly happy with how we live and dont want any change. Yet for Jamess sake Im willing to try anything, even a makeover. I start by clearing out my wardrobe, then I splurge the savings Id set aside for a garden shed on a flood of new clothes. I chop my hair short and dye it a bold shade. My goal is to look anything but boring. Next I land a new jobnot the usual office gig but as an events coordinator. The role opens a world of original entertainments.
A week later James returns, stunned by the new me. I promise him a completely different lifestyle, and we follow through. From then on were rarely at home, always on the move, meeting fascinating people. Every night we hit a pub, a restaurant, a bar, a party, a friends flat or whatever catches our fancy. We go camping, cycle through the Cotswolds, paddle a kayak on the Thames, or take a weekend break to Manchester.
Months into this lively routine, James starts saying he suddenly craves quiet, peace and simply staying at home. He misses homecooked meals and my pastries. I have no time left to stand at the stove. Ive changed so much that he no longer longs for my company.
A week later he tells me he cant keep up with such an active pace. He wants to return to the old, quiet, cosy lifespending evenings at home, driving to his parents on weekends for fresh, homemade food instead of reheated takeaway. By then Ive grown accustomed to adult responsibilities and refuse to revert. The current way of living suits me perfectly. I do miss aspects of the former routine, but I wouldnt trade it now. When James insists on restoring everything to how it was, a real showdown erupts.
In the end his dream of a tidy, sleepy domesticity collapses: dishes are shattered, the new neighbours call the police, and James packs his things and heads to his mothers house, hoping to return and find me as I once was. That would be too much. Were not characters in a film who can flip personalities on a whim. James comes back home to find divorce papers on the kitchen table and a note saying Im bored of him and cant live with him any longer.
