At the end of the month, the money for food ran out, the husband rushed to dinner with his mother, did not eat a modest dinner.

Family budget is a very important part of relationships between people who love each other. It should be discussed in advance, and both sides should take the decision seriously. And I I give money to my husband.“He decides everything” is not the best option. In the future, such an attitude can play a cruel joke with the family.



It is strange and sad that many married couples in our country do not understand this. In their heads there is a reverence for traditions, where the man earns and the wife takes all the salary. While in the West, money management is at a high, responsible level. Perhaps we should learn something from the Europeans.

My husband and I are still quite young. I'm 28, he just turned thirty. No kids, but plans. So far, career has come first. However, now within our union I see some difficulties.

About a year after the wedding, we live together. The apartment is mine, or rather, my parents. It so happened that they left the country for a long time, and we occupied their living space. Everything was fine: we were folding money into a utility room. The products were bought in turn, not exactly as I liked, but these are small things.



I often hear my husband complain that he doesn’t have enough money. It is understandable: recently took office, spent part of the money on all sorts of courses and trainings. Besides, he likes to eat. Meat, fresh vegetables all year round - enrolled in the gym, which means that the food should be at the level. In addition, the payment of the room and the coach.

Because I am small, I eat very differently. Porridge, dairy, sometimes chicken. But I'm so used to it. You also need to go to the cosmetologist sometimes. Not really, we all have such a household.



The problems started relatively recently. So, the parents warned us that they were going back to their apartment, and we would like to do the general cleaning, and at the same time figure out where to live. I don’t think we can rent an apartment at our age. It's wasted money and nothing else.

Naturally, I had a conversation with my husband. I learned a lot from him for myself. First of all, a loan or mortgage is not about it. Too much responsibility. What if one of us loses his job or gets sick? Then all our money will disappear like snow in the summer heat (yes, that's what he said).



He has already sent a third of his salary to his mother. Almost after our wedding. I didn't know it, and I didn't even know it. You see, they have some kind of arrangement there that I don't need to know about. Now it became clear why he whined that there was not enough money for anything.

And thirdly, it has been promoted for a month. It would seem that the wife should know about such good news. But, in his opinion, it does not concern me at all. Ironically, he began to pay his mother even more, because no matter what the salary, a third goes to her. It's been a month since I've earned less than that, but I keep paying more for groceries. It's not enough!



When I asked why part of our total budget goes to his mother while we huddle with my parents, he did not answer. That's all right. Where do we live? Also a hitch. You can, they say, rent an apartment in a not too good area, but it is cheap and there are a lot of shops, and it is faster to get to transport. Yeah, sure. It's a sleeping area.

There. Now for the fun part. End of month. Money, the cat cried. Actually, before the salary is about a week, but an empty wallet already hints that my nails will be in terrible condition, the benefit of at least for the phone and the Internet to pay left. I came home from work and did some light cleaning. I looked in the fridge and rolled the ball.



Phere had to do something about it. In short, I took off the shelves all my stocks of porridge, spices and other nonsense. I dug in and found the sausages I had forgotten in the freezer. Some potatoes. And I made a brew out of it all. No, it tastes bad, but you can live. Edible.

My gentleman is here. Tired after training, hungry and unhappy. Forty minutes later he asked for dinner. I rolled out everything I made. Porridge, pearl, sausage. What other options? I couldn’t go to the store on the way. My treat. I see he's getting crooked. I asked if it was the sausage he was gonna throw out. I answered as is. With grief, he ate them in half. I didn't even touch anything else.

But after an hour of murmuring in my stomach, my beloved man spit and left. Turns out, my mom. Well, the wife can't make axe porridge. Mommy's here. There is so much money in her pockets.



Now I think to give him an ultimatum: I stay with my parents, they will not offend me. And let him and his mother live and eat. A month and a divorce. Either we take a loan, a mortgage, I don't care. And we buy our apartment. Yeah, I'm gonna have to. Yes, the baby can wait. But these are the actions of adults. I am not going to be married to a child. Period.