Honestly, Ive made quite a few mistakes in my life, but the biggest one of all is still living right next to meand I genuinely dont have a clue what to do about it. I was 25 when I married this bloke called Michael. He was two years older than me and seemed, at the time, like he couldve stepped straight out of a fairytale, the perfect prince charming.
He was always buying me flowers, little gifts, carrying my bags for meI mean, we never argued, and somehow we managed to sort out any issues quietly and calmly. Wed never actually lived together before tying the knot, you know? Neither of us really believed in living together before marriage; we thought it was a bit too casual for our liking. So we just got married, plain and simple. Mum and Dad gave us some money for the wedding, but it wasnt nearly enough to buy a house. And I wasnt exactly keen on renting eitherwhy pay some landlord every month and have them poking their nose into how were living?
Anyway, Michaels mum suggested we move in with her. She had a two-bedroom flat in Birmingham and was pretty bored living alone, so there was plenty of space free. Seemed sensible enough, right? So, off we went. His mum seemed like a decent woman, so it wasnt hard finding common ground at first. But from the moment I moved in with my mother-in-law, I started discovering a lot more about Michael than Id bargained for. Turns out his mum still saw him as her little boy. When he was living with her, he basically did nothing around the housenot even his own laundry. She even washed his pants and socks for him, and hes a fully grown man! I mean, come on, thats just bizarre.
The only thing Michael did was go to work and take care of his own day job. So, no surprise, as soon as we started living together, all the housework landed firmly on my shoulders. Now I had to cook for everyone, clean, do all the laundry, do the ironingyou name it. Was that what I signed up for? His mum didnt meddle in my business or invade my kitchen when I was cooking, which I appreciated. But the fact she wouldnt even lift a finger to help made me feel like I was hired as their live-in maid.
And then, things got worse. One day, a plug socket caught fire, so I managed to put it out. But when I asked Michael to swap out the old one for a new one, youd think Id asked him to solve some complicated maths equation. Turns out, Michael didnt even know how to change a socket. Honestly, when the bulb in our room needed changing, he just disappeared and said he wouldnt do ithe was afraid! So I grabbed a stool and did it myself. He doesnt know how to do anything, not a thing. And the worst part is, he doesnt even want to learn. Whats the point, he says? Easier to call someone in and pay for it. Fine, but he doesnt earn stacks of pounds to pay for someone else to do every little thing.
The bit that really drives me spare, though, is how his mum treats him like a seven-year-old, and Michael responds all shy, calling her mummy.
Michael, have you put on your socks, changed your pants? Michael, have you washed yourself properly? Listening to these conversationsyou wouldnt know whether to laugh or cry. Hes supposed to be a grown man, and his mums asking if he changed his underwear!
Honestly, I just want to get a divorce. But what then? I havent got my own place, and the money Mum and Dad gave us is all spent. I cant take much more of this, but how much longer am I meant to put up with this absolute silence and madness?
