I told Michael to go live with his mum.
Who are we supposed to be, living like this? Michael shouted, And you know what drives me absolutely mad in this whole mess? That youre happy with everything!
Whats wrong, love? I asked calmly.
Just that I forgot yesterday the toilet in our flat is in the middle of the bathroom instead of where it belongs in a normal house, and I banged my knee on the cistern! Now Ive got a bruise the size of your makeup bag!
Which makeup bag, dear? I stretched the words out, enjoying the twitch in his left eye. The tiny one for lipstick? Or the big one where you keep my nailpolish tools that I havent used in two months because all the money goes on your manly whims?
Michael muttered something and the question was dropped.
Oh, how we ended up like this! Just four months ago I was the happiest bride-tobe in the world. I had Michael handsome, smart, reliable (or so I thought) and my own flat in a brandnew development that needed a bit of work. Id bought it with the cash from selling my grandmas little tworoom house in the city centre.
What could possibly go wrong? Turns out, everything. All of it.
It started when my prince on a white horse quickly turned into a professional whiner on the sofa.
Listen, love, Michael made a face that twisted his goodlooking features, normal people finish the renovations first and then move in, not live in a concrete box like some
Like some who? I leaned in, feeling righteous anger flare, Like folks who cant afford a £500 a month flat while theyre renovating? Or what?
Michael flushed. Hed been spending more nights at his mums lately she lives in a spacious threebed flat she inherited from her late husband.
On top of that, he quit his job three months ago ands been actively looking for work, which in practice means scrolling through adverts and going to an interview once a week, while most of his time is glued to the computer playing games.
His mums been handing him cash, clueless that her precious son is basically loafing around. He tells her the same sob stories he tells me the economys in a mess, its hard to find a decent job like the one he had, hes not cut out to be a porter, and so on In short, hes got a very comfortable setup.
Is your mums place comfortable for you? I pressed.
Michael puffed up.
What does my mum have to do with it? he snapped, and I knew my favourite song was about to start. She just she worries about me! You should have seen her get upset yesterday when I told her weve been washing in a bucket for two weeks because we still cant get the shower up and running!
We cant get it up? I exclaimed. We? Or someone who swore theyd do the whole job themselves, with a screwdriver in hand?
Looks like Ive landed in the worst spot the whole renovations on me. Im the one wielding the drill; he only goes out to the shop for a bit of food. Cooking? Not his thing.
He tried to answer, but I cut him off:
Tell me, who decided to put the toilet smack in the middle of the bathroom? Who was too lazy to read the plumbing layout?
At that moment my cat Milo sauntered across the windowsill table, knocked over the decorative mug Id bought as a housewarming gift, and it shattered into tiny pieces.
I took it as a sign.
Right, love, I said calmly, I think you really shouldnt be living in these awful conditions. Go back to your mums. Right now.
Poppy, are you kicking me out? Michael raised an eyebrow.
Im freeing you from the misery.
I opened the new front door, happy that at least wed managed to replace the old one that was barely holding together on a handshake.
Mum will sort you a proper dinner, iron your shirts, wash your socks heck, even her toilet is in the right spot! Ill manage here on my own.
Michael tried to flash a condescending smile, but it came out as a mix between a grimace and a sour lemon face.
Poppy, enough dont try to make me laugh. I cant do it without you!
Why would you think that? I teased. Ive been doing this renovation practically on my own for two months while youve been off to your mums to whinge about life. Yesterday I even hooked up the washing machine myself. Watched three YouTube videos, did it. And you couldnt even handle the instructions.
Blimey Michael chuckled. She hooked up the washer thats a feat. A child could do that!
If a child can, why cant you? I shot back.
I didnt I
Just didnt want to, right? I nudged. Michael, what do you actually want and can do? Sit on the sofa and criticize? Tell your mum Im a terrible partner because I make you live in inhuman conditions?
Listen
By the way, I interrupted, if you complain to your mum again that Im starving you, Ill tell her the truth about how you look for work that youre glued to your shooter games like youre fifteen, with no repairs, no responsibilities, no worries at all!
Fine, threats made Michael sighed. Alright, Ill go to Mums, and when youve cooled off we can talk.
No, we wont talk, I said. Ive already said my piece. So pack your stuff and say goodbye to your mum. Im sure shell be thrilled.
Realising I wasnt joking, Michael smirked and started gathering his few belongings not many, so he was quick about it.
Its a good thing I never married you, he muttered, probably trying to hurt me. Youd have driven me mad, and wed have ended up divorcing.
Exactly! I replied. And thats that. Off you go. Safe travels. Milo and I will manage.
Ha! he laughed. With Milo! Living with a cat is the sort of fate youre suited for. Oh, youll soon have a whole army of cats forty of them!
When he left, Milo padded over, rubbing against my legs. I scooped him up, kissed his fluffy head.
Alright, little bloke, youre the boss of this house now. Well get through this, yeah?
He gave me a doubleeyed blink that, in cat language, meant absolutely.
