Money was hard to get by when I got married. So although I was raised to be independent, I followed my husband’s advice to live with his parents. I figured it would be a temporary arrangement anyway till we could get our own place. Five years later and we’re still here.
Even if cash were not an issue, our options are not too pleasant. For 1.5 million bucks we can only get a 35 sq. m. matchbox on a 95 sq. m. patch of grass. I visited a model home once and I felt like Snow White in the home of the seven dwarfs. It sure wasn’t a good option for the claustrophobic.
Fortunately, I don’t have a problem with my in-laws. I do however have a problem about hanging my “laundry” in front of them. Even among people I consider my family, I never am comfortable making my personal issues known. More so when the issues involve altercations with my husband.
We had such an encounter a month ago. Neither of us wanted my in-laws to hear us arguing so we argued like constipated charade players or actors portraying a Greek tragedy in pantomime. Our little daughter who stays in the same room with us seemed to have taken our cue and wailed in full technicolor minus the sound.
This is yet again another reason to get a place of our own. I’m just not good in marital warfare in sign language.
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