Posted on 01/03/2022 11:46:20 AM PST by C19fan
had wanted, I thought, soapstone counters and a farmhouse sink. I had wanted an island and a breakfast nook and two narrow, vertical cabinets on either side of the stove; one could be for cutting boards and one could be for baking sheets. I followed a cabinetry company called Plain English on Instagram and screenshotted its pantries, which came in paint colors like Kipper and Boiled Egg. Plain English cost a fortune, but around a corner in the back of its New York showroom you could check out the budget version, called British Standard. But it cost a fortune too. I wished there was a budget British Standard. I wished there was a room behind that room, the cabinets getting flimsier and flimsier until a door opened and let me back into my own shitty American kitchen, just as it was.
My husband talked to the architect; my husband talked to the builder. And I kept paring the plans down, down, making them cheaper, making them simpler. I nixed the island and found a stainless-steel worktable at a restaurant-supply store online for $299. I started fantasizing about replacing the counters with two-by-fours on sawhorses and hanging the pots from nails on the wall. Slowly, I realized, I didn’t want this kitchen. Slowly, I realized, I didn’t want this life.
I didn’t want to renovate. I wanted to get divorced.
(Excerpt) Read more at theatlantic.com ...
I know the woman had no say in her Christian name being “Honor”, but that irony really burns.
Definitely needs to be required reading for any infatuated young man. Listen to her... “I want” “I wish” “I don’t want” Meanwhile it sounds like her husband was working his ass off to support her whose frugality would pay off in the future. BUT NO. “I want” “I wish” “I don’t want”
If my wife divorces me, I’m going to buy a sailboat and put my money overseas.
What an idiot. I clicked through & read the whole story, so self absorbed, so materialistic, so much missing the point.
But she is a really good writer.
Slowly, I realized, I wanted to really devote myself to . . .
the author of the article \ story is what you call feckless.
Three definitions of feckless match this person precisely.
Careless and irresponsible.
Feeble or ineffective.
Spiritless; weak; worthless.
“Me me me!”
She wanted her husband to be like a house. Something to serve her. Something she can renovate and fix to her standards. And when she doesn’t like something she tears it out and changes it. I would imagine she henpecked him the same way she would have treated a house. People aren’t like that and she had a seething resentment toward him.
Behold, our liberal elites.
Not even smart enough to grasp that one doesn't wash cleaning solvent rags with children's clothes. I mean, what a revelation!
” I hired a woman named Luba to clean once a week. I loved talking with her. She was full of sensible advice, like how I should really stop washing the cleaning rags along with the children’s clothes, because the chemicals could irritate their skin.”
Anyone who had to be told this sensible advice is not too bright to begin with. You would think it would be just common sense.
Perfect description of Wife #1, who left me after 23 years, after deciding she hated me, to raise our teenage son alone while she followed her dreams. Wife #2 died last March after a decade of multiple sclerosis, so she couldn’t leave if she wanted to, and wouldn’t have gotten anything out of the prenup anyway. Son, who is now coming up on 40, never married; it is a shame for him, but finding a woman who is truly willing to be a wife (as the Bible put it, a helper equal to him) is impossible in this century, and as much as it pains me to say it, he is wise to be as he is.
Exactly! All for her 'career' which she so pathetically and mistakenly thinks is so important. She and Hillary should go drinking together.
She’s a spoiled child, not an adult. Everything revolves around what pleases her today.
I love that story within the story! I think about it quite often.
I had caused so much upheaval, so much suffering, and for what? He asked me that, at first, again and again: For what? So I could put my face in the wind. So I could see the sun’s glare. I didn’t say that out loud.
Geez! These are the exact things that I DON’T want to do. I don’t want to put my face in the wind. I don’t want to see the sun’s glare. What a weirdo!
I have simpler wants that are logistically impossible; I want to go run with a pack of wolves.
;D
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