When Lisa’s husband, Tom, starts hounding her about getting a second job, she becomes suspicious of his reasoning. Finally, fed up with his nagging, Lisa gets a job. Once there, Lisa learns a horrible truth about her husband.
In our home, I’m the one who makes more money. It hadn’t been an issue before, but recently, my husband Tom has been pressuring me to take a second job. “You don’t even leave the house to work, so you cannot possibly be as tired as I am at the end of the day,” Tom said.
“But you’re a mechanic, Tom,” I retaliated. “You run your own business. And you take three days off just because you have people to do the job.”
“Let’s just table this conversation,” he said dismissively.
And for a few weeks, we did table the conversation. I hoped that he wouldn’t bring it up again because I couldn’t understand why it was even a conversation. “Are you struggling financially, Lisa?” my mother asked me when I told her about Tom’s suggestion over a mother-daughter pasta date.
“No, not at all,” I replied. “Look, we’re not difficult people, we’re not fancy, so our lives are easy to manage and sustain. It’s the fact that Tom was really pushing for this.”
“Do you think his business isn’t doing well?” she asked, sipping on her drink.
“That can’t be it,” I replied. “I’ve seen the number of cars that come in and out on a weekly basis. It’s enough to turn a profit.
And he’s been employing new staff constantly. That’s also a good thing.”
“Then what is it?” my mother asked. “I have no idea,” I said, adding more grated parmesan onto my pasta.
“But I do know that I don’t have the time for a second job. I cook and clean in between sitting at my laptop. I do groceries during my lunch breaks, and I take the dogs to the vet or whatever during those times, too.
I just can’t see it working out.”
“You have to tell him, darling,” my mother said. “You have to make it known that you cannot take on an added responsibility that’s going to leave your cup empty.”
Everything was fine until we decided that it would be better to sell my car and buy a new one. “I told you, Lisa,” Tom said over dinner one night.
“You need to get that second job.”
He cut into his steak, his knife grating against the fork. “Why me?” I asked, incredulous. “I already work long hours, and my job is exhausting.
I have to look at a screen the entire day and pay attention. By the end of the day, my eyes are sore and my brain is exhausted. And then I have to worry about dinner and laundry and everything else.”
“Your job is easy, Lisa,” he replied.
“You’re trying to make it seem worse than it is. You work from home, remember? You don’t have to leave this house.
And you don’t get as tired as I do because you’re not getting beneath cars every single day.”
I was stunned. “Why don’t you get another job? You can do it on the days you have off!”
“Because, then, Lisa,” he said slowly, as if speaking to a child, “I’d miss bowling with my friends!”
He said it as if it was the most logical reason in the world.
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