З життя
«Йому їжі на трьох мало, а думає лише про себе: змінила в домі не дружину, а холодильник»
Думала колись, що замки на холодильник — то лише жарти. Якийсь мем з інтернету. А потім побачила його на власні очі — залізний замочок з ключиком, у крамниці з дрібним господарським крамом. Стояла, дивилась і вперше всерйоз подумала: а може, справді купити? Не від дітей ховати їжу, не від злодіїв. А від власного чоловіка…
Звати мене Оксана, мені тридцять, живу з чоловіком і донькою у Львові. Працюю, викладаюсь, кручуся як вир у коловороті, як у нас кажуть. Та, попри всю метушню, виснажує мене не робота, не дитина, а той, з ким я під одним дахом. Мій чоловік, Богдан, не бачить нікого й нічого, окрім своєї тарілки. Він їсть. Постійно. Без розбору, без міри, без совісті.
Приходжу додому втомлена, знаючи, що у холодильнику запас на вечерю — шматок м’яса, трохи сиру, можливо, йогурт для донечки. А відчиняю дверцята — а там пусто. Не трохи з’їдено — а зовсім нічого. Мовчки, без попередження, він усе знищив. За ніч. Ковбаси, сири, навіть ягоди, куплені для дитини — все зникає. Ніби в безодню.
Нещодавно купила донечці суниці. Знаєте, які зараз дорогі ягоди поза сезоном? Але дитина побачила у магазині та попросила. Я не змогла відмовити. Дома вона їла по трохи, з таким трепетом, з такою радістю… Я навмисне відклала половину на ранок, поставила у холодильник. Прокидаюся вранці — контейнер порожній. Він усе з’їв. До останньої ягодинки. І ще й посміявся: «Ну то сходи, купи ще! Гроші у нас є, у чому проблема?»
А в тім, Богдане, що ти взагалі не думаєш! Ані про доньку, ані про мене! Не запитав, не подумав, просто з’їв, ніби то твоє за правом. А я — мов кухарка, лише встигаю купувати й готувати. Ти з’їв останню ковбасу — і що? Ні каяття, ні бажання якось відшкодувати.
Він виріс з матір’ю, яка з дитинства годувала його до відвалу. Величезні порції, безперервні смаколики. Він високий, колись займався спортом, але звички лишилися. А я? Я з малих літ звикла до помірності. Сама стараюсь виховувати доньку так само — не в надмірності, а в усвідомленні. Та з батьком у неї приклад зовсім інший: з’їсти все й одразу.
Я не прошу економити. У нас із грошима гаразд: працюю в дизайнерській агенції, він — у транспортній фірмі, прибуток стабільний. Справа не у фінансах, а у повазі. У вмінні думати не лише про себе. Побачив — замислись, для кого це. Донька просила? Дружина залишила? Невже так важко?
І от я знову стою перед холодильником. Знову пусто. Знову гнів клубочиться десь під серцем. Я втомилась. Я не на кухню виходила заміж. Хотіла бути коханою жінкою, матір’ю, рівною. А не постачальником їжі для дорослого чоловіка, який у домівці бачить лише тарілку й диван.
Кажу йому — ти не живеш із сім’єю, ти живеш як самотній хлопець, тільки з повним доступом до нашого холодильника. А він лише махає рукою: «Ти погана господиня, якщо їжа не затримується. У нормальних дружин усе під рукою». Серйозно? То може, і пральну машину за дружину заведемо?
Усе частіше думаю — може, не замок на холодильник потрібен, а ключ від власного життя. Того, де я не зобов’язана бути прислугою. Того, де мої бажання хтось враховує. Того, де я — не просто дружина, а людина, яку чують і поважають.
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