I Buy Premium Turkey Meat for Myself and Steam Healthy Cutlets, While He Gets Out-of-Date Pork: After 30 Years of Holding Our Family Together, I Refuse to Share the Good Food with My Lazy Husband

I buy finest British turkey breast for myself and steam up beautiful cutlets, while he gets the expired pork left on discount at the corner shop.

Im fifty-seven. For over thirty years, Ive been married, and all that time Ive handled the laundry, cooked every meal, ensured everyone in our house was comfortable. My husband and I raised two children, both of whom I brought up and got through school myself. Ive always been like a hamster on a wheelworking two jobs, sometimes three, just to make sure our kids lacked for nothing and looked as smart as everyone else.

All those years, my husband never really put his back into work. And now, once he hit retirement age, he plonked himself down in the armchair for good, doesnt lift a finger towards any job at all. Meanwhile, I still go out to work, help our kids out with the grandchildren, and I still run the house on my own.

Time and again, Ive asked him to do a bit of workmaybe a couple of shifts working security at the shopping centre, just to helpeven part-time. Every time, he says theres no point: We do just fine without me slogging away like that. Oh, but hes clever enough when it comes to food! I barely get a moment to cook for myself. More than once, Ive come home from work and found hes gone through everything decent in the fridge, left me nothing but a bit of soup.

One time, over a cuppa, I told my friend all about it. She told me straight: “Just cook separately. Make his meals from cheaper bits, treat yourself to good stuff.” I went home, looked him in the eye, and told him the doctor said I needed to be on a strict dietso hes not to touch my food.

Now, I hide my food away. When hes tinkering in the garage, I sneak sweet treats. I stash sausage and cheddar at the back of the fridge where hell never look, and scoff it alone while hes none the wiser. It helps that weve two fridges: one for groceries and one for jars of preserveshis foods in one, my secret stash in the other.

Menthey never see a thing, do they? I splash out on top-quality turkey for myself and make delicate steam cutlets, while he gets the bargain pork thats nearly out of date, doused in spices so he doesnt notice. I buy him the cheap value pasta that costs pennies, and for myself, I get durum wheat spaghetti.

Honestly, I dont see a problem. I dont feel guilty. If he wanted to eat well, he could get off his backside and get a job. Besides, at our age, divorce is madnessmost of your lifes gone, and we own this house together. Why would I want the fuss of selling up and splitting every last pound?