I don’t know, perhaps Im the only one whos ever found herself in such a situation. Looking back, it seems almost comical, but at the time it caused me no small measure of frustration. In the last year or so, I began dividing every meal precisely in half with my husband. I simply couldnt see any other solution. If I didnt portion things out from the very start, my husband would eat what ought to have been my share, leaving me quite peckishif not entirely famished.
Let me explain. My husband and I have now been married for three years, though this all began in our first year together. We havent plans for a family yettheres time enough for children one day. We both work and, truth be told, our wages are pretty evenly matched. In those early days of marriage, I scarcely noticed his peculiar habits. I thought, well, men do enjoy a good meal, dont they? Let him indulge!
But gradually, I found myself taking note of how the things we bought together from the corner shop, or the food I cooked for us at home, was, for the most part, devoured by my husband. I was left with hardly a tastejust a small portion, never quite a fair share. This went on for a good year.
Take Sunday roast, for example. Id put a chicken in the oven, but somehow I’d end up with the smallest sliver, never the juicy leg or even a proper bit of the breast. And between us, I do love a chicken thigh and a bit of crispy skin. Yet hed always make off with the best pieces, leaving nothing but a dry wing or a little breast for me as if I fancied scraps. The same story with any sweet treats: if I managed to snatch one or two biscuits or a chocolate, Id count myself lucky. It seemed fair, at least, when we had the same amountwhen I managed to keep up with him.
At first, I tried to be subtle. Id mention, with a smile, that I, too, liked sweets and the good cuts of chicken. My husband would simply laugh it off:
You cook so well, Jane, I hardly notice how much Ive eaten! Dont be cross. I never knew you wanted seconds, you only need to tell me, hed reply.
I wasn’t exactly wounded by his words, but they didnt sit right. The last straw, as I recall it, came on my birthday. Id spent the evening before preparing a couple of my favourite salads and roasted our favourite chicken, thinking Id save myself some trouble and simply warm everything up on the day. This way, we could have a lovely meal together without me chained to the stove.
He always managed to return from work before I did, but it honestly never crossed my mind that hed help himself to the lot. By the time I got home, every salad bowl had but a spoonful left, and only a single chicken leg remained on the tray.
I was starved, darling. I didnt wait up, he said, rather sheepishly.
Even the birthday cake had to be cut right down the middle, half for him and half for me. That day, Id simply had enough. The cheer Id felt on my way home had vanished entirely.
Thats it, I told him, my patience quite run dry. Ive had just about all I can stand. Lets do this properly from now on: well split all the groceries down the middle, half for each of us. The chicken gets sliced right in two. Sweets and biscuitseach a bag of our own. Fruit, cheese, everythingequal shares. You can eat your half at once or spread it out all week, thats up to you. But I simply wont go hungry and finish off your leftovers anymore. You dont even bother to ask if I want to save something. So either we agree to share things equally, or Ill buy my own food and you can buy yours.
And to his credit, my husband didnt argue. He agreed to it straight away. Now, meals are portioned out evenly: whats mine is truly mine, and his belongs to him. Neither of us goes without, and peace reigns in our little householdsuch a simple solution, after all, to a problem so easily overlooked.
