Im fifty-seven now, and sometimes it feels like Ive been on my feet, rushing from one thing to another, my whole life. For over thirty years Ive been married to David. During all those years, Ive washed his clothes, cooked his meals, and kept our house tidy, making sure everyone in the family has what they need. We have two grown-up children, both of whom I raised and helped put through university, and now there are grandchildren as well. Ive always worked several jobs at the same timeanything to make sure our children had everything they needed and kept up with their friends at school.
Through it all, David has never really worked all that hard, and since he reached retirement age, hes just stayed home and let go of work altogether. Meanwhile, Im still at my job, juggling it with babysitting for the grandchildren and managing all the housework as always.
More than once Ive asked David to get a part-time jobsecurity, maybe?but he always brushes me off, saying we can manage without it. Yet, when it comes to meals, hes strangely sharp! I barely have any time to make proper food for myself, and there have been so many days when I arrive home from work only to find that hes eaten all the decent food, leaving me with only a bit of soup.
One day, I confided in my friend Claire, and she suggested I start cooking separately: buy the cheaper ingredients for David, and keep the better quality stuff for myself. When I got home, I told David that my doctor insisted I go on a special diet, and so it wouldnt be good for him to touch my food.
Now I admit, I hide my food away. When David disappears into the shed, I sneak a biscuit or a bit of chocolate. I tuck sausages and nice bits of cheese at the back of the fridge out of sight, and when his backs turned, I treat myself. Thankfully, weve got two fridgesone for the usual foods, and one mostly for jars and odd bitswhich makes it so much easier to stash my special things.
Men can be rather oblivious, cant they? For myself, Ill buy good-quality turkey mince and steam it into patties, while for him, Ill get whatever pork is on a yellow sticker, nearly out of date, and hide the taste with some seasoningshe never notices. I buy him the cheapest pasta at the shop, about 40p a bag, while I get the nice durum wheat spaghetti for myself.
Honestly, I dont feel even a twinge of guilt. I dont think Im doing anything wrong. If David wants decent food, he can get off his backside and find a job, or at least do more around the house. At our age, divorcing would be nothing short of daft. Weve already lived most of our lives, and we own our house together. Theres no sense in selling it, splitting what little we have, and starting over. So, this is how things areand, truth be told, Ive grown rather used to it.
