Since my husband and I have lived together, hes never thrown himself into hard work. And now that hes retired, he rarely ever steps outside the house.
Im 57. Ive been married to my husband, John, for over thirty years, and throughout all that time, Ive seen to his every needwashed his clothes, cooked his meals, and turned our house into a home.
I was always the industrious one. I juggled several jobs to keep our family afloat, making sure our children had every opportunity and the best schooling we could afford. My life has been a whirlwind of endless chores and obligations, even when the children were tinyI never let the pace drop. Because of that, our children have always had more than enough.
But Johnhes never been willing to take on much responsibility. Once he hit pension age, he became completely housebound. Yet here I am, still working and helping our children by taking care of the grandchildren, while also maintaining all the household duties single-handedly.
Countless times Ive implored him to get a job, just a little something, even as a night watchman, but hes stubborn as an ox. Well manage, he insists, Ive earned my rest. And theres another thing: the man can eat for England. Cooking dinner is already enough of a challenge after a ten-hour shift, but sometimes I come home and find hes eaten all the good bits, leaving me nothing but a bit of thin soup. Its the same day in, day outhe thinks of no one but himself.
One afternoon, I was pouring my heart out to a dear friend over tea, and she suggested an odd solution: cook separately for him. Use the cheapest ingredients for his meals, while keeping the nicer things for myself. When I got home, I put on my best concerned face and told John that the doctor had put me on a special diet, so wed have to eat differently from now onhe wouldnt be able to touch my portions.
I soon became quite shrewd about hiding treats. I stashed biscuits and fudge in the cupboard, and if John wandered off to the shed or the garden, Id make myself a nice cup of tea and nibble on something sweet. I kept the decent cheese and sausage at the back of the fridge, behind the pickles where hed never look. If he was out back tinkering with the car, Id slip in a sandwich or two. Having two fridges saved mea main one for groceries and another in the pantry where I could squirrel away my little stockpile.
Men arent usually that fussed about cooking, so I was safe there. For myself, I bought proper cuts of turkey mince for healthy steamed meatballs, while he got beef minceonly past its sell-by date, but with enough seasoning, he never knew the difference and he wolfed it down, blissfully unaware. Cheap pasta for him, just a few pence a packetluxury durum wheat pasta for me.
I honestly dont think Im doing anything wrong by staying with John. If he wants fresh, healthy meals, he can always find a job and buy them himself. At our age, the idea of divorce is frankly absurdweve spent the best years of our lives together. To split up now would mean selling the house, dividing whatever money weve managed to save, and neither of us wants that. Not at this stage of life.
