You dont need much, do you?
How convenient youre being! Im scrimping every penny, working as if Im invisible, and youre planning a restaurant treat for your birthday? Isnt that a bit extravagant?
Love, its a milestone. It should be memorable. You dont turn thirty every day, David retorted.
And a month ago I celebrated with a modest doityourself party at home. That was a proper celebration, wasnt it?
Lucy stared down at David with a frown, her hands planted on her hips. She was livid. It wasnt just that his birthday splurge would cost them a hundred quid. Lucy felt, by contrast, like a servile housekeeper or a penniless relative.
David only confirmed her suspicions.
You yourself said you didnt need much!
She froze, eyebrows lifting. Yes, she had said it, but not from a place of comfort.
Right, Lucy answered slowly. I said I could do without a new dress, that I could bake the cake myself, that I could manage my nails without a salon, because I want to move into my own flat, David! Not because I enjoy living like a pauper.
David pursed his lips, clearly not keen to delve deeper. He behaved like a petulant teenager: I want it, end of story, and dismissed everything else.
Youre only twentyeight. Youve got your whole life ahead. Im hitting a round number, and I want the day to feel like a proper celebration, not just a sitdown at home.
Lucy lowered her gaze. Sitdown thats exactly how it felt.
She remembered spending a whole week planning the menu for her own birthday, ticking off ingredients, hunting for bargains. She bought vegetables on clearance a little wilted but still serviceable for a salad. She scoured flyers, entered promo codes, compared prices in every supermarket. The cake followed an internet recipe, topped with a mix of sour cream and condensed milk. Not because homemade was superior, nor because she loved baking, but because it was cheaper.
Despite the frugality, the party succeeded. Guests smiled, praised the salads, and happily ate her homemade pizza. She smiled too, in an old dress with nails painted in cheap clear polish.
The cash gifts covered almost all the expenses. Lucy pretended she was satisfied, but later, alone in the bathroom, tears streamed down her face from selfpity, exhaustion, and the constant need to stretch every pound: the dress, the hair, the family celebrations.
In the three years shed lived with David, pennypinching had become her second name. She knew how to squeeze the most cashback out of a loaf of bread, bought cheap processed cheese instead of proper cheddar, and could spot genuine sales from the rubbish ones.
Clothes? As long as they were clean and holefree, she didnt care. All those looks, images, and brand names mattered only to someone hunting for a bargain toothpaste, not to someone saving enough for her own roof over her head.
Yes, having my own flat is important, David agreed. Then I wont be shunted out on a whim, and we wont have to splash half our wages on rent.
In reality, Davids contribution to the household budget was limited to handing over his salary. That was something, but the idea of a separate budget terrified Lucy, as did stories of couples who split finances or women forced to save for maternity leave. David treated money like a teenage boy ready to blow it on chips and fizzy drinks.
It was no surprise Lucy calculated how much went on utilities, transport, food. She trimmed expenses to stash a planned sum. She booked haircuts with students to stay within the limit. Sometimes it went badly, but it was always cheap.
They moved toward their goal, but more like two people walking side by side than hand in hand. Lucy never told David the full cost of her efforts; she didnt complain, didnt whine. She stayed silent when he ordered pizza for lunch, simply because he was too lazy to go to the canteen and wanted a treat.
You know what, David I really dont need much, Lucy looked away. Just a bit of genuine respect. I hate scrimping, but I do it because Im thinking of our future together. Yet sometimes I feel we have no future at all.
I work, David snapped. I bring money home. What more do you want? Do I not have the right to a celebration?
He saw she wasnt up for compromise and retreated toward the bedroom. Lucy stayed alone in her cheap robe, a single working bulb hanging from the chandelier, thoughts of a mortgage they were unlikely to reach at this pace.
Her heart ached with doubt. Was she being unreasonable? Was David right?
The next day she met her friend Clare for coffee. Lucy needed someone to talk to.
I can see you didnt just drop by to admire the linoleum patterns, Clare noted, noticing Lucys gloom. Whats up?
Lucy sighed, placed her hands on the table, and gave a brief rundown of yesterdays argument. She explained how it hurt that a joint dream was funded by only one side, and how David placed his anniversary above her birthday.
Youre sharp as a tack, love, Clare smirked after Lucy finished. So youre saving on yourself and expect him to carry you?
Were saving Lucy began.
Yes, yes, Clare cut in. Youre saving, hes spending. Does he ever have to give something up? Does he ever thank you for all this?
Lucy shrugged. Her husband wasnt ungrateful; he just believed this was how things ought to be, that the domestic magic would sort itself out.
Does he know what it costs to be a woman? Clare pressed. Manicures, pedicures, hair, waxing, decent lingerie, not granddads knickers Thats just the baseline. Are you his partner or his convenient mum in a threadbare robe who does all the counting, organising, and doing?
Stop Lucy tried to protest, unsure.
I wont stop. Let me be blunt: why does he push for a restaurant? Because he knows youll fold. Youll stretch your panties to holes, stop dyeing your hair with that cheap kit, but youll still give in. And hell feel like a king because its a fancy dinner.
So what should I do? Lucy was at a loss.
Stop being a doormat. Find a lover with a flat. That would solve everything.
Clare!
Alright, alright. Just a backup plan. Stop scrimping on yourself. He wants a restaurant? Fine, let him. But you need a dress, shoes, a proper bag, a decent hairdo, and some gold earrings to match. If youre going out, dont show up in tracksuit with stretched knees.
The dress is easy. I just need to squeeze into my graduation gown
Lucy, are you even hearing me? Stop pennypinching on yourself!
Lucy exhaled. It was a jolt, but she knew Clare had a point.
Fine. Ill give it a go
That morning Lucy told David she needed to book a salon appointment manicure, haircut, styling. He was surprised but shrugged.
Later she showed him a pair of shoes shed liked.
Look, black, versatile. Theyll go with almost any dress and I can wear them later too.
Eight hundred pounds?! Lucy, I could upgrade my computer memory for that!
What can I do? Its my birthday, I have to look presentable. Its a restaurant, after all. You might end up without a gift, but your anniversary will be unforgettable. By the way, Ive already scouted a boutique; take me there and well pick a dress together.
David huffed but didnt argue. Perhaps he hoped shed change her mind. She didnt. By evening she was already eyeing earrings.
How about these? I think theyre lovely, and theyre cheap only two hundred pounds. Others of the same weight cost thirtyplus. Ill need a clutch to match after the dress, of course.
David, noticing the panic in her eyes, did a quick mental calculation, swallowed hard, turned pale, and muttered:
Maybe we skip the restaurant a night in would do.
Lucy just smiled. They settled on a quiet, familystyle celebration. Did they make up? Not entirely. Did he understand anything? Perhaps. What Lucy realised was clear: until you respect yourself, no one else will.
