So Im fifty-seven now, can you believe it? I’ve been married to my husband for over thirty years, and honestly, Ive spent all that time doing his washing, cooking his dinners, and trying to make our home feel cosy. Weve got two kids, and I basically raised them myself, making sure they got a good education and everything. Honestly, Ive always been running around like a headless chicken, juggling two or three jobs at once and picking up any extra work I could find just so the children never had to go withoutalways making sure they looked as smart as everyone else.
Throughout all these years, my husband has never really knuckled down at work, and once he reached retirement age, he just packed it in and stayed at home, claiming hed done his bit. Meanwhile, heres me still working, helping the kids with their little ones, and somehow keeping the house ticking over.
Ive asked him loads of times to at least try and find a job, even something as simple as a security guard. He always says were doing fine without him working, and hed rather not bother unless he has to. Its a nightmare, I barely have time to cook dinnerand then I get home, and hes scoffed all the nice food and left me with the soup.
I once spoke to a mate about it, and she suggested I cook separately: make his meals with the cheap stuff and keep the best bits for myself. So I came home and told my husband the doctor said I need to go on a special diet, so he shouldnt touch my food.
Now, I stash all the nice things in the cupboard for myself. When hes out in the garage tinkering about, I sit down with a cup of tea and a biscuit or some chocolate, hidden away. Sausage and cheese I tuck into the bottom shelf of the fridge, and when hes not looking, I help myself. Weve got two fridgesone for the basics and another for jams and pickles, so I hide the best bits in there.
Honestly, you know what men are likehe wouldnt notice a thing if it was right under his nose. I buy top-notch turkey and steam it into burgers for myself, and for him, I get the cheap pork, throw in loads of spices, and he never complains. The pasta I buy for him is the bargain stuff that costs next to nothing, and for me, I grab the premium, made-from-durum-wheat kind.
I dont think theres anything wrong with it, really; I dont see it as being unfair. If he wants to eat well, he can get himself a job instead of just sitting around. I reckon, at our age, theres no point even thinking about splitting upits silly, most of lifes gone already, and we’ve got this house together, so why sell up and split the money? May as well make the best of it now.
