My sons wife cant even tidy up after herself! Eventually, they’ve scooted off and finally moved out of my house.
I was just 22 when I found myself suddenly alone, my husband having done a runner, leaving me with little David in my arms. My boy was only two at the time. My husband’s grand exit came after he decided hed had enough of the drudgeryearning money only to spend it on his family, which he apparently found terribly uninspiring. You know, he preferred splashing out on himself and his fancy woman rather than us. Not that he was ever Husband of the Year, but oddly enough, when he left, life became a tad simpler for me. Suddenly, everything was my responsibility. I enrolled David at nursery and started working myself. I remember being so worn out some evenings, I could hardly feel my legs, but the house was always neat, dinner was on the table, and my boy was clean and fed.
Family traditions, I tell you. My mother always drilled it into me, and our generation, I daresay, was made of sturdier stuff. Ill admit, I may have spoiled David a bit. At 27, he still cant even fry an egg. But not so long ago, he married, and I thought, finally, he has a wife to fuss over him, and maybe I can take up a hobby or get another job just for the fun of it. In short, I thought my golden years would finally be peaceful. Well, that fantasy was dashed when my son announced that he and his new bride would temporarily stay with me. I wasnt thrilled, but what could I do? Let them have the spare room, I thought. I reasoned that shed cook for her husband, do his washing, and Id just have to be patient for a few months.
Oh, how naïve I was. Kate was quite the character. She wouldnt tidy up after herself at the table, didnt wash up so much as a single teaspoon, nor would she do laundry for herself or David, and dusting? Not on your life. For three months, I found myself taking care of not just my son, but also his wife (and barely getting a thank you for it). Was this really necessary? What did my daughter-in-law actually do? Since David decreed hed provide for the household, Kate didnt so much as lift a finger outside. From morning until evening, until David clocked off from work, she was either out gallivanting with friends or glued to her mobile. And I, meanwhile, was working my socks off.
When I got home, the place looked like a skip, everything was strewn everywhere, the fridge as barren as the Sahara, not a morsel prepared, and not a single clean mug in sight. So then Id trot down to Tesco, stock up on groceries, slog away in the kitchen, and then scrub the dishes. Not that Kate seemed to notice, mindher sense of responsibility mustve got lost on the London Underground. She even brought me a plate one evening while I was washing up, having hoarded it in her room for days until it was practically a breeding ground for insects. The next time she did that, I told her straight: If she had even a shred of decency, shed do the washing up at least once.
Did she apologise and mend her ways? Of course not. The very next day, after a full-blown tantrum, she and David stormed out to rent a flat nearby. My son even accused me of trying to tear his family apart. For what? For suggesting his wife wash a few dishes? Honestly! Well, thank heavensnow I can live in peace and cleanliness and wont have to pick up after anyone else. These youngsters today, Im telling you, absolutely hopeless. Not worth their weight in pound coins.
