When the ring went west
By the time we moved here I had the baby and begun to see light at the end of the tunnel. I had my transfer to better prospects lined up and he had line up some work too - though this turned out to be the work that led to the astronomical telephone bill.
We sorted out a deal which entailed the mortgage, the pension cover, the council tax coming from my salary (along with the train fare and half the child care costs) while he covered the balance.
But for one reason or other the money was never there when the child minder's fees were due or she needed more nappies or ... in fact it was only there in the days immediate following a trip up to London to visit mummy and daddy.
The penny dropped of course. He wasn't working; though quite how he was managing to occupy his time was not very clear. I heard constant complaints from the child minder about how late he was getting my daughter to her and in what state she arrived.
Then I began to hear that he was being seen around town at odd times during the day, when he was supposed to be working.
He wasn't working and I was paying some other woman £140 per week to care for his child so that he could do what? Well it sure as hell wasn't the shopping (which I did) or the cooking (which I did) or the housework (which I did) or the garden (which I did) or maintenance (which was left undone, pardon me!).
There comes a point where you have to ask "what's in this for me?". Companionship, mutual support, sex? Don't make me laugh.
It began to be embarrassing that I was married to or indeed in any way associated with this feckless creature seen sloping around town wasting his life away.
When you sit next to some one five days a week for as much as 8 hours you inevitably get a glimpse into their private world and begin to wonder; and if you've established some form of rapport you ask questions.
So the girls in the office were gradually disburdened of their illusions until one day I was able to go into the office and wave my left hand in their direction and show them with some pride my ring finger - my naked ring finger.
I would leave the house and slip the thing off as I walked up the hill; I would keep it in the little zipper pocket in the lining of my all-weather jacket and put it on as I left the train of an evening. Sometimes I had close calls; when he would be waiting for me at the station and I would have to fumble to get the damn thing on in a hurry. By God it felt good to be unshackled, however briefly.
We sorted out a deal which entailed the mortgage, the pension cover, the council tax coming from my salary (along with the train fare and half the child care costs) while he covered the balance.
But for one reason or other the money was never there when the child minder's fees were due or she needed more nappies or ... in fact it was only there in the days immediate following a trip up to London to visit mummy and daddy.
The penny dropped of course. He wasn't working; though quite how he was managing to occupy his time was not very clear. I heard constant complaints from the child minder about how late he was getting my daughter to her and in what state she arrived.
Then I began to hear that he was being seen around town at odd times during the day, when he was supposed to be working.
He wasn't working and I was paying some other woman £140 per week to care for his child so that he could do what? Well it sure as hell wasn't the shopping (which I did) or the cooking (which I did) or the housework (which I did) or the garden (which I did) or maintenance (which was left undone, pardon me!).
There comes a point where you have to ask "what's in this for me?". Companionship, mutual support, sex? Don't make me laugh.
It began to be embarrassing that I was married to or indeed in any way associated with this feckless creature seen sloping around town wasting his life away.
When you sit next to some one five days a week for as much as 8 hours you inevitably get a glimpse into their private world and begin to wonder; and if you've established some form of rapport you ask questions.
So the girls in the office were gradually disburdened of their illusions until one day I was able to go into the office and wave my left hand in their direction and show them with some pride my ring finger - my naked ring finger.
I would leave the house and slip the thing off as I walked up the hill; I would keep it in the little zipper pocket in the lining of my all-weather jacket and put it on as I left the train of an evening. Sometimes I had close calls; when he would be waiting for me at the station and I would have to fumble to get the damn thing on in a hurry. By God it felt good to be unshackled, however briefly.
posted by Enyo @ 8:55 pm
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