My husband is the king of the sofa, and our neighbour is a proper hero. Why is life so unfair?
Im only twenty-eight. My husband, James, is thirty-seven. Were a young family with two lovely kids. Youd think wed be living a modern life, but honestly, sometimes it feels like weve gone back to the 1950s. Because with James, everythings old-schoolthe man should earn the money, and the woman should cook and take out the rubbish. Absolute nonsense, isnt it?
When we got married, I hoped wed be partnersin life, in chores, in raising the kids. That neither of us would stick to outdated ideas like “thats not a mans job” or “you can handle it yourself.” But no. James thinks its beneath him to pick up a cloth or even turn on the washing machine. He might wipe down the shelves once a month if I beg him. But making the kids breakfast? Unthinkable. As if the frying pan might bite him.
And then theres the man who leaves me in awe. Our neighbour. Just an ordinary bloke who lives upstairshis names Oliver.
Oliver and Emily are young, early thirties, living just above us. Emilys a confident, career-driven womanworks for a big international firm, drives a fancy car, always polished and in control.
Meanwhile, Olivers between jobs right now. And you know what hes doing? Hes being an incredible father and husband. When their little one was born, he didnt drown himself in beer or hide behind the telly. No, he took paternity leave. Yes, him.
And you wouldnt believe how well he handles it. Morning walks with the pram, cooking porridge, washing baby clothes, cleaning, making dinner. Like a superhero in an apron. And their child? Pure joy. Oliver doesnt dream of being anywhere elsehe lives for his family.
When Emily comes home, she always smiles at him. Watching them, I cant help but feel a pang of envy. Theyre like a poster for a happy marriagestill in love, respecting each other, tackling everything from nappies to holiday plans together.
Once, I saw Oliver mopping the floor, humming to the baby in the cot, and my heart ached. Not because my husbands a bad manbut because he refuses to be like that. He thinks real men dont do housework.
Sometimes I hint”Look how Oliver walks his son,” or “He made dinner again.” James just scoffs. “Must be bored with his life,” he says. Or, “Emilyll leave himwomen dont want doormats.” It makes me want to scream.
Funny and sadis care really weakness? Does love only mean paying the bills?
I dont expect James to whip up gourmet meals or knit cushions. I just wish hed sometimes say, “Ive got this, love, take a break.” Or surprise me with breakfast in bed once a week. Or just hold our youngest and say, “Go on, rest.” But no. To him, thats a womans duty. Hes the provider.
So when I see Oliver, I want to applaud. Not because hes better than my husbandbut because hes different. Because he loves in actions, not just words. Because hes not afraid to be “unmanly” by old standards. Because he had the courage to be a decent human being.
Maybe one day James will realise love isnt just about earning. That a womans happiness isnt just flowers on Mothers Day, but kindness every day. Until then, I just pray my kids have a father like Oliver is to his son.
Because real strength isnt in the armsits in the heart. And sadly, not everyone was taught that.
