I am now fifty-seven years old. My husband and I have been married for more than thirty years, during which time Ive washed his shirts, cooked every meal, and kept our home cosy. Together, we have two children, both of whom I raised and schooled myself with plenty of effort. All my life Ive been rushing about, never stopping, much like a hamster on its wheel. I juggled multiple jobs and took every opportunity for extra work so the children never went without, and so they could look as well-dressed as any child in London.
Throughout our marriage, my husband never really pushed himself at work, and once he reached retirement he simply stayed at home and stopped working altogether. Meanwhile, I still go out to work, help our children with their little ones, and keep the house running.
Ive asked my husband time and again to find some kind of job, even as a night watchman, but he always replied that were managing fine without his earnings. He chuckles that hes got nothing to complain about as long as theres food. In truth, I hardly get time to cook; some evenings I come home exhausted and find hes eaten all the good food, leaving me just the soup.
One day, chatting with a friend over a cup of tea, she suggested I start cooking separately: cheap basics for him, and nicer things for myself. When I went home, I told my husband that the doctor had put me on a special diet, so he should kindly leave my meals alone.
Now, I stash the best treats away in the cupboard, and when he pops out to the shed, I quietly enjoy my tea and chocolates. Sausage and cheese are hidden in the fridge, out of sight, and I wait until hes busy before eating them. Luckily, we own two fridges: one holds groceries, and the other is filled with jars of picklesperfect for concealing my supplies.
You know how men arehalf-blind to anything in front of them. I buy quality turkey and make steamed patties for myself, while the pork I give him is past its best, spruced up with seasonings, which doesnt bother him in the slightest. He gets the cheapest pasta from Tesco, whereas I choose premium durum wheat for myself.
I dont see anything wrong with it; I dont think Im being cruel. If he wanted better food, he could always get a job rather than lazing about. At our age, divorce seems pointlessmost of life has passed, and we own our house together. It makes little sense now to sell up and split the money.
After all these years, Ive learned that sometimes, looking after yourself isnt selfishits necessary. And while sharing life with another is about compromise, its equally important not to lose sight of ones own needs, even amid the routines of everyday life.
