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My husband — and every men— and parking the damn car. Or in other words “how he hates walking”
What happened last Tuesday was not new, but a repetition of a pattern I have been noticing since I decided to share my life with a man, my husband. I was under a lot of stress. I was finishing my master’s degree on that day and heading towards the University for my defense day. There I go, all dressed up, wearing a suit, a blouse, a skirt, shoes, and with a pile of nerves. We drove for 2 hours, as the University is far. I barely talked during the whole trip, and honestly, I barely remember anything of the journey, as stress and nerves were eating me inside.
Now, before getting to the real crux of the story. Let me tell you. When a single woman in her late twenties gets together for love, having had her somehow independent life, it is not easy to let go of the “single independent me”. Whether you may contradict me or not, the truth is part of me was gone, and a new part of me was born. Perhaps so is life. However, these almost three years together have been a learning process on how difficult it sometimes is to share your life with someone.
For now, I just want to ask, “what is up with men and parking places?”
In the middle of a December week, we arrived there with students and teachers having lessons, in the oldest University in my country ( yes, to whom may be…
