Fine, if thats how it is, Im moving back with Mum! the husband declared.
Then stay here alone! his wife snapped.
Blythe Smythe was left highanddry after her relationship fell apart. She had no lover, no job, and no clear prospects. And now the New Year was looming.
What a mess, her mother sighed when she heard the shocking news. All his fault, that freeloaderhes dragged you down! Who do you think youre blaming for your own ruin?
What now? Martin smiled. Stop sulkingI’m waiting for you to make peace.
Blythes life seemed cursed with two particular troubles: an unfaithful husband and a tyrannical boss. It was the sort of doublewhammy that many people complain about.
They werent cheating on each other, but they each poisoned Blythes world in their own way.
Martin was witty, clever, a brilliant conversationalist and drenched in romanceat least on paper. When it came to actually working, he always found an excuse: Im too tired, Im ill, Im busy, Im just not in the mood. He also loved a good meal.
It all unfolded like an old English folktale:
Bubble, go eat your porridge! Wheres my big spoon?
Before they were married, brief dates were enough: a quick pizza dinner, a decent night in, banter full of sharp jokeswhat more could a couple ask for? It seemed the perfect recipe for a wedding.
Blythe fell head over heels, not noticing that her fiancé was forever searching for himself and for work.
Ill find a jobpromise! Youll be the first to know, he claimed with a grin.
Both laughed, thinking it was a hilarious promise.
Martins quick wit earned him the nickname Elf from Blythe, and she returned the favour by calling him Monkey. Not a literal monkey, of coursejust a playful jab.
Eventually the nickname morphed into Monka term that sounded weightier and less offensive. Blythe didnt want to hurt Martins feelings.
When they finally married, Martin moved in with Blythe, because the thirtyyearold mans own flat was nowhere in sight.
Jokes dont pay the bills, Blythes mother warned, clearly not a fan of her new soninlaw.
Who could stop them? He wasnt a standup comic, after all.
The first misunderstanding came over the rent. Blythe had no money, so she did the only thing sensible wives do: she asked her husband for help.
It turned out Martin was always at homelooking for himself and for workusually from the sofa, because its easier to think that way, hed say.
Pay your share, Martin suggested, his eyes twinkling.
My own funds are gone; I just spent everything on groceries, Blythe replied, shocked at how different married life felt from her expectations.
Then use the wedding gift, Martin said. Ill make it up later.
When? Blythe asked.
Later, when the cats asleep! he joked, and both laughed.
At the wedding theyd been gifted about £200,000a tidy sum from their parents. Their own parents stopped supporting Blythe after she married, insisting, Let your husband feed you.
Martin, who had previously relied on his own parents, was also cut off. His allowance ended, and Blythes salary ran out quickly.
She dipped into the wedding fund, then into it again. The savings earmarked for a rainy day vanished like a snowball in the sun.
One afternoon, Blythe reached for the money box only to find it empty. She had assumed there would still be something left.
The boxs emptiness was explained when Martin confessed hed taken the leftovers to buy new headphones.
I dont see why you cant do that, Martin quipped, the old ones stopped working anyway!
What are you going to call me, a monkey? Blythe retorted.
Come up with something, youre my brilliant inventor! Martin replied.
She tried, then grew silenther ideas were getting a bit too sharp. The next day she borrowed money from her mother until payday.
Did that stop Martin? No. He didnt suddenly go jobhunting. Instead he cracked another joke: I cant stand being ignored, especially by Eleanor! (Blythes full name). He then tried to make peace.
Enough of the drama, Elf! I miss you, he said.
They reconciled, though a lingering tension remained. Borrowing from her mother became a habit, and it did nothing for Blythes morale.
One day her motherinlaw could no longer hold back:
Martin, have you earned any proper wages, or are you still living off Blythes neck?
Martin fell silent; no witty comeback came to mind. Sometimes the truth is best met with a quiet nod.
Blythes second major headache was her boss, Marta Brooks, the head of the analytics department where Blythe worked as an economist. Marta was a terrifying, selfabsorbed tyrantlike a fairytale witch who despised anyone daring to exist without her permission.
Marta loathed both men and women, having endured three failed marriages in which every husband cheated. By her fifties she ran a department, had no children, two cats, and attended tango lessons twice a week. Her orders to fire people flew left and right.
When a junior colleague, Pete Riley, joked that perhaps Marta should lead a linedance instead of tango, the rumor spread quickly. Marta, overhearing, declared coldly, Youre no longer employed here! The office fell silent; pleading for a second chance seemed futile.
Blythe feared Marta, freezing like many others in her presence. Yet she still clung to hope that perhaps fate would be kinder.
The next day Blythe and Martin argued againthis time over something trivial that snowballed into a mountain of accumulated grievances. Martin, for the first time, hinted at divorce.
The following morning Blythe went to work determined to send a stern text to her errant husband. She decided to call him a little monkey rather than a monkey, hoping the extra syllable would sting more.
She typed, Dont think, little monkey, that Im scared of your words! If you keep acting up Ill hand you over to the zoothere are already animals waiting for you! She signed off not as Elf but as Smythe, to make it official.
She smiled at the messagesharp, humorous, exactly the tone Martin liked. It seemed shed finally said what she needed without cruelty.
New Years Eve approached, and as the saying goes, How you start the year is how youll spend it. A divorce at this point felt premature; they hadnt even made it through a full year together.
Just then, Marta burst into the office, shouting, Smythe, the annual report is a mess! Fix it now or youll be out! She was practically buzzing with adrenaline, like a cat on a hot tin roof.
Blythe quickly scanned the report, found the error, and shot Marta a text: Ill sort it by lunch. She also sent a quick note to Martin.
Three minutes later Marta called her: Who, dear, thinks theyre a monkey? Planning to send me to the zoo, Smythe? Well, think again!
Blythes heart sank; she had mixed up the messages. The boss, whose name was Marta, was the very person shed just called a monkey. The irony was bitter.
It felt absurdlike a scene from a slapstick comedyyet neither woman laughed. Blythe stared at the floor; any explanation seemed pointless. The situation was almost too surreal to believe.
Marta, still seething, announced, It appears you wanted to quit? Your wish is grantedyoure no longer employed here! She added, Youll have time for the zoo, I suppose.
She paused, then said, Your own people must be waiting for you already!
In the end, Martas tyranny won the day. Blythe left the office, spent an hour and a half gathering her things, and headed home with her cactusa quirky substitute for flowers.
Now make peace, will you? Martin called from the hallway, grinning. You promised to sort things by lunch!
He had received her misdirected text and thought shed come back to reconcile. He was thrilled.
Why did you bring a cactus instead of roses? he teased. A man doesnt need flowers, you knowjust a bit of humor.
Your humor lives where I cant see it! Blythe snapped, nerves frayed. Youve got me fired because of that cactus!
If they hadnt fought the day before, she might never have sent that angry text, and none of the chaos would have unfolded.
Why is this all on me? Martin asked, genuinely surprised. Did I mess up again?
Not your business! Blythe shouted. What did you even understand about the firing?
Did I get it wrong again? Martin wondered, shrugging off the dismissal as a minor blip. Fine, Ill go back to Mum then. You stay here alone!
Blythe was once again left on the broken bucketno lover, no job, no clear future. And the New Year was fast approaching.
Those nerves are cursed! her mother declared upon hearing the latest drama. All his fault, your lazy boyfriendhes taken you for a ride! Who do you think youre blaming?
What have you latching onto him for? her mother continued. Hes like a soap bubbleshiny on the outside, empty inside!
Choose your partners more carefully, love, her mother warned. Youve brought home a mystery man!
Dont cry; nobody died, her father added. Well keep you fed with what we have.
Her mother invited Blythe to spend New Years at her house, promising that a friend would bring along a handsome, single son.
Grandma joined in, chuckling, A little loss wont hurtlet him tap his spoon elsewhere! Hes just trying to sneak free vinegar and eat the whole house.
Both women urged Blythe, Be choosier, dear.
In the end, Blythe and Martin split for good. They had stopped understanding each other, turning into bitter strangers.
Even the old proverb about being thorough proved trueperhaps Blythe should have been more meticulous in every choice, especially with texts.
So, dear reader, remember: a careless message can spiral into chaos, and a rushed decision can cost more than you think. Take the time to think before you speak, choose partners wisely, and never let a moment of anger dictate the course of your life.
