З життя
«Він їсть за трьох, а думає лише про себе… Я не дружину, а холодильник в домі замінила»
Думав, що замки на холодильник — це смішно, на кшталт жартів з інтернету. А потім побачила його на власні очі — залізний замочок з ключем у крамниці дрібниць. Стояла, дивилась і вперше серйозно подумала: а може, й справді варто купити? Не від дітей ховати їжу, не від злодіїв. Від власного чоловіка…
Мене звуть Соломія, мені тридцять, живу з чоловіком і донькою у Львові. Працюю, стараюся, кручуся як вітер у льоху, як кажуть у нас. Але попри всю метушню, найбільше виснажує не робота, не дитина, а чоловік, з яким ділю дах. Мій чоловік, Тарас, не бачить нікого, крім своєї тарілки. Він їсть. Постійно. Без розбору, без міри, без сорому.
Приходжу додому втомлена, знаючи, що в холодильнику заначка на вечерю — шматок сала, трохи сиру, можливо, йогурт для доньки. Відкриваю дверцята — а там пусто. Не трохи з’їдено — зовсім нічого. Мовчки, без застереження, він усе знищив. За ніч. Ковбасу, сир, навіть полуницю, куплену для дитини — все зникло. Ніби в безодню.
Нещодавно купила дитині чорниці. Знаєте, які вони дорогі поза сезоном? Але донька побачила в крамниці й попросила. Я не могла відмовити. Дома вона їла по трішечки, з таким захопленням, з такою радістю… Я навмисне відклала половину на ранок, поставила в холодильник. Прокидаюся — контейнер пустий. Він усе з’їв. До останньої ягідки. І ще й посміявся: «Ну то йди, купи ще! Гроші в нас є, у чому проблема?»
А в тому, Тарасе, що ти взагалі не думаєш! Ні про доньку, ні про мене! Не запитав, не подумав, просто з’їв, ніби це твоє за правом. А я — як годівниця, тільки й роблю, що купую та готую. Ти з’їв останню ковбасу — і що? Ні докору сумління, ні бажання якось це виправити.
Він виріс із матір’ю, яка з дитинства годувала його до відвалу. Величезні порції, постійні смаколики. Він високий, колись займався спортом, але звички лишились. А я? Я змалку звикла до помірності. Сама так виховую доньку — не в надлишку, а в усвідомленні. Але з батьком у неї приклад зовсім інший: з’їсти все й одразу.
Я не проситиму економити. З грошима у нас усе гаразд: працюю в дизайнерській агенції, він — у транспортній компанії, дохід стабільний. Справа не в грошах, а в повазі. У вмінні думати не лише про себе. Побачив — замислись, кому це призначалось. Донька просила? Дружина відклала? Невже так складно?
І ось я знову стою перед холодильником. Знову пусто. Знову гнів збирається десь під серцем. Я стомилась. Я виходила заміж не за кухню. Хотіла бути коханою жінкою, матір’ю, подругою. А не постачальником їжі для дорослого чоловіка, який бачить у домі лише тарілку й диван.
Кажу йому: ти не живеш із родиною, ти живеш як самотній, тільки з повним доступом до нашого холодильника. А він лише махає рукою: «Ти господиня погана, якби добра, то їжа не переводилась б. У нормальних дружин усе під рукою». Серйозно? То може, й пральну машинку за дружину призначимо?
Все частіше думаю — може, не замок на холодильник потрібен, а ключ до власного життя. Того, де я не зобов’язана бути обслуговуючим персоналом. Того, де мої бажання хоч хтось враховує. Того, де я — не просто дружина, а людина, яку чують і поважають.
Раптом усвідомлюю: іноді найважче — не визнати проблему, а знайти в собі силу щось із нею зробити.
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