The Wife. The Husband.

Beach HeartsThe Wife

We’re always arguing.  About whose turn it is to do the cooking, the shopping, do the ironing, empty the dishwasher, pay the bills, organise the insurance.  He takes no responsibility without a push and inevitably I take the path of least resistance and do it all.  It’s like being in charge of a child. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve arrived home, after my long commute, to an empty house.

‘We’re supposed to be partners’ is my never-ending argument.  ‘But you know I love you’ is his fall-back position, that and a bunch of manky flowers from the local garage, after a particularly bad row.   I always feel like I’m one hundredth on the list, his mates, the pub, his sister and his job come way before me.  I don’t know what happened.  He was so attentive at the beginning, I was completely charmed.   Then we got comfortable, as couples do, and everything changed.  No more cosy nights in together, planning our future.  Now he’s at the pub every night, rarely getting home until gone 9pm.  I’ve put his dinner in the bin many times, leaving stroppy notes for him to find.  What’s worse is that I hate who I’ve become.  I’m always angry these days, always nagging about something.  I resent him for making me like this.  I just want us to be like we used to be because I can see that it’s all going wrong and if we can’t find the words to sort it out, where will that leave us?

The Husband

She used to be such a laugh.  Enjoyed a drink or seven and partied like the rest of us.  Then she got this new job and now it’s all about her career and money.  I’m sick of arguing about money.  We should be enjoying it, not discussing how much we can save this month.  We’ve got plenty of time to worry about that.  If I’ve heard ‘I’m one hundredth on the list’ once, I’ve heard it a hundred times.  She knows I love her, I tell her every day.  But that isn’t enough apparently and my not emptying the dishwasher is now more significant.   She was always fun to be with and I loved spending time with her. But now all she does is wittle over trivial stuff.  What’s worse is that I know how she thinks and I know she beats herself up about everything, because that’s who she is, not that confident really.  It doesn’t matter how often I tell how beautiful she is or how proud I am, she just doesn’t believe me because the little things have taken over.   I know she works hard but so do I.  I get tired too and the last thing I want to do is argue about the bloody shopping.   I wish she’d just let it go and relax. I’ve tried to persuade her to stop worrying about everything, but we always end up picking at each other and get nowhere.  So I end up in the pub every night just to avoid the arguments.  What else can I do?

Note:  This is an activity from my OU creative writing course


Categories: Just Stories

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