She finally arrives and starts talking non-stop about how painful it is to live with in-laws.
This instantly reminds you of that one long month with the parents that was spent dodging questions about your whereabouts and trying hard not to comment on the sheer stupidity of the
speculation about how your lifestyle and your stubbornness may have impacted your decision to leave him, and the
horror stories adventures that followed, such as the first house you ever rented.
No more of this constant nagging. I have a new home now. Your new house is beautiful and its pristine white walls have filled you up with contentment. Apart from the fact, of course, that you’ve spent a painfully long time and a small fortune trying to select a dinner set with just the right shades of green and blue to match the upholstery in your ready-to-move-in ground floor apartment.
Within hours, your kitchen is well-stocked and you know where everything is. You can reach out inside a shelf, pick up a container, and tell what’s inside without even looking at it. There’s enough room for your clothes, and none for embarrassment caused by the father or the father-in-law walking in to your room unannounced only to find undergarments strewn all over your bed.
Life couldn’t be more perfect.