I dont eat leftovers, cook every day. Thats what my 48-year-old partner said, handing me a list of five womens duties. Heres what I did next.
So, picture this: its Saturday morning, Im standing by the cooker with a cup of tea, and David opens the fridge, pulls out a tub of the stew Id made the night before, and goes, Emma, you know I dont eat leftovers. Can you cook something fresh, please? He didnt really ask, he just sort of declared it, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world that women are supposed to cook from scratch on demand, and God forbid supper was made the previous eveningit was apparently a crime against his comfort.
Im forty-five. Ive been independent for years, have a good job, my own flat, and a life I built for myself after my divorce. I invited David to move in about a month agonot because I needed another mouth to feed, but because I wanted some proper company. He seemed grown-up and reasonable. Clearly, my idea of grown-up was a bit skewed.
He seemed totally normaluntil he moved in.
We met in the usual way, reallythrough a dating app. Davids forty-eight, divorced, works as a delivery driver, was renting a rather dingy bedsit. In messages he was polite, and on dates he was charming: bringing flowers, cracking jokes, never asking what I earned or bragging about his own career.
We went out for three months, all pretty relaxed. No weirdness, no red flags. At weekends, hed come round, wed cook together, watch films, go for long walks. Hed even help with the washing up, offer to nip to the shop, and make sweet comments. I honestly thought, Here he isa grown man without any baggage.
Then, one day, he said he was fed up with throwing money away on rent. Wouldnt it make sense, he said, if I just moved in here? Were together most of the time anyway. I agreed, thinking, Were adults, whats the harm?
The first week was fine. He tidied up after himself, sometimes made breakfast, didnt leave his things thrown everywhere. But by the second week little things started cropping upnothing massive, just bits and bobs I tried to ignore at first.
Turned out those little things werent quite so little.
He stopped rinsing his mug after tea. When I asked why it was left by the sink, he said, Well, you do the washing up later anyway, no point doing it twice. Then it was socks left near the sofa, and when I asked him to put them in the basket, he just laughed and said, Emma, its hardly a big deal. Calm down.
Day after day there were more and more requests: Emma, pass me the remote. Emma, pour us some water. Emma, wheres my charger? And all the while I was working from home, whereas he was only around in the evenings. Slowly, I started feeling less like a partner and more like staff in my own flat.
Then came the stew saga, and later that Sunday evening, something even betterthe List.
David sat across from me on the sofa, phone in hand, using his most serious voice:
Look, love, Ive been thinking, we should get house stuff sorted so theres no confusion. Ive made a list of what makes sense as family roles.
My first reaction was a bit of anxietyI thought he wanted to chat about splitting chores, like who does what, what works for us both.
He opened his notes app and started reading
The first item: Cooking. The woman should cook every day, and preferably keep things varied. I dont do leftovers, so food has to be made fresh. I blinked, genuinely gobsmacked, but he pressed on without missing a beat.
Number two: Laundry and ironing. This is a womans job, men just dont get it. My shirts need to be ironed by Monday. Inside, I was equal parts angry and baffled.
Third: Cleaning. A good scrub of the flat every week, dusting often. Im at work all day, I just dont have time for it. His voice was so matter-of-factI felt like he was reading contract terms instead of talking to his girlfriend.
Fourth: Intimacy. Minimum twice a week. Thats important for keeping things harmonious. I clenched my fists, watching him scroll, not even looking up.
Fifth: Money. Bills split equally, but groceries are yours, since youre at home more and do most of the cooking. Ill cover my own expenses. Finished, he gave a pleased grin, as if hed done me a massive favour: Sounds fair, doesnt it?
I was quiet a good few seconds. Then, quite calmly, I asked, David, and where exactly are your responsibilities in this list? He lifted his eyebrows in surprise: What do you mean? I bring money in, dont I? Isnt that enough? I work too, I told him. I work from home, but full-timeand I earn about the same as you. Yeah, but youre working remotely, he waved it off, not like me. Youre in the warm at home, Im out and about all day, dealing with people, knackered by the evening.
I stood up. So you want me to be your free cleaner and chef? He scowled: A cleaner? Dont be ridiculous. This is just how things work in a couple. The man works, the woman runs the house. Always been that way. Well, maybe in the 1950s, I said. Were living in the twenty-first century now. He sighed like he was talking to a child: Emma, men arent cut out for housework. Were hunters, providers, youre the one keeping the home fires burning.
I lay awake all night, listening to David snoring beside me, as if nothing was wrong at allas though his list, and my role in it, was totally normal.
By five in the morning, Id made up my mind. I quietly packed up his things into two carrier bags, set them by the door, left a little note: David, I read your list. Heres mine:
1) Find someone else to keep your home fires burning.
2) Your bags are at the front door.
3) Pop the keys through the letterbox when you leave.
4) Dont call. Good luck finding a housemaid wholl work for harmony in the relationship. I left before he woke upheaded straight to my friends, where we made coffee and I told her everything. She just shook her head: Emma, thank goodness you saw the signs early. Imagine how itd be in a years time.
Three hours on, David sent a text: Youre seriously overreacting to nothing? I thought you were a mature woman. I didnt reply, just blocked his number.
Whats behind a list like that?
Its been two months. Ive thought about all of it and realised, first off, David wasnt after a partnerhe wanted a live-in maid with added benefits: someone to cook, wash, clean, be available as scheduled, and never ask for anything back. Secondly, this arrangement was just normal to hima woman over forty wasnt, to his mind, an individual with boundaries, but someone who should be grateful and take care of the housework. And third, there are more men like him than youd thinkthey act decent on the surface, but once youve moved in, the demands start slipping out.
The biggest thing I learnt? Id rather be single than play household servant. Im forty-five, Ive earned the right to live by my own rules. No more lists, no more responsibilities that fall only to me, and no more men who only see me as a function rather than a person.
If that means being on my own, so be it. Better single than in a relationship where someone thinks youre their personal cleaner.
What about you? Would you walk out after a list like thator try to compromise? Why do some men, past forty-five, think they need a housekeeper, not a partner? And have you ever seen someone change completely once youre living together and new demands suddenly appear?
