Youre robbing my son blind, he cant even afford a lightbulb!
On Sunday morning I was cocooned on the sofa under my favourite tartan blanket. My husband had popped out to his mothers house to replace yet another lightbulb. Though lets not kid ourselvesthe real reason for the summons was entirely different.
Son, you do remember its Olivers birthday today, dont you?
My husband is what you might call a proper spendthrift. His salary lasts about as long as an English summerover before youve noticed its even here. Luckily, he hands over enough for the bills and a Tesco shop before the rest evaporates on new video games and all their assorted paraphernalia. I dont make a fuss about it. I reckon a grown mans better amusing himself with a controller than haunting the pub or using up shoe leather gallivanting about nightclubs. Besides, I read somewhere that the first forty years of childhood are the toughest, and personally, I find that quite relatable.
Im not relaying all this in search of sympathyjust explaining why my husbands wallet always rattles empty. These financial woes dont trouble me. I even manage to squirrel some away for a rainy day, and more often than not my other half comes begging me for a loan when things get a bit tight. But I consistently refuse whenever he wants cash for his mother or his sisters kids or his sister herself. Im not a total saint.
Anyway, remembering it was Olivers birthday, I nipped out last week and sorted a present. Before my husband departed for his familys house, I handed over the gift, then flopped down to watch some telly. I gave the family gathering a miss; the mutual dislike between myself and the in-laws is hardly an open secret.
They seem to think I dont love their precious boy just because I wont let our cash flow into their pockets, or babysit their unruly offspring. Once, I did agree to mind my sister-in-laws twins for an hour, only for them to turn up six hours later to collect them, and I barely made it to work. When I dared to mention my displeasure, I was branded shameless and uncouth by both mother-in-law and sister-in-law. After that, every new plea to watch the kids was met with a polite but firm no. I wasnt fussed about my husband keeping them entertained, mindI quite liked watching him run ragged.
Not twenty minutes after my husband returned, the whole clan descended on our housesister-in-law, nephews, all. My mother-in-law strode inside, coat still buttoned, radiating entitlement, and declared
Weve decided Oliver absolutely needs that tablet he picked out himself. It was £400, so you owe us £200 for it. Cough up.
Now, I like the boy well enough and might have got him a tablet, but nothing that extravagant.
Obviously, I didnt hand over a penny. This was the exact moment my beloved decided to have a go at me for being tight-fisted. I switched on the laptop and yelled for Oliver. In less than five minutes, we ordered a gizmo he actually liked.
Delighted, Oliver scampered off to his mother, who was parked in the hall. My sister-in-law, by the way, never met a surface she couldnt stick her hands tothings had a habit of walking when she visited. Predictably, my random act of kindness rated no compliments from the in-laws. Instead, my mother-in-laws hackles shot up.
Nobody asked your opinion, you were supposed to hand over the money. My son always looks like a pauper married to youcan’t even afford a lightbulb! Fork over £200, everyone knows thats your husbands money anyway!
She then started rummaging through my handbag, which was perched on the bedside table. I shot a glare at my husband and hissed:
Youve got three minutes to chuck them out!
He finally hauled his mother outthree minutes flat, job done.
So honestly, Id rather my husband spends his wages on video games. At least thats more dignified than watching his mum and the rest of those chancers nick the lot. Right now, Im starting to think I should have married an orphan.
