Now that the children are in college, my wife has been suffering “saving things for them” pangs. “I’m not like those women who deny themselves the good things of life so they can give their children a dowry,” she would crow every time her sibling carried a scruffy handbag to go shopping for her son’s forthcoming nuptials. “Tch-tch,” she said to me about a friend’s (I’m ashamed to admit) lingerie, “holes in her inners to buy gold for her daughter!”
In the large, I agreed with her, having grown up at a time when families put away everything nice to be used “later”. So it was ironical that nothing found use as intended. The scotch, stored for some reason amidst mothballed woollens, turned nastier than country liquor. Imported Marks & Spencer jackets and suits went out of fashion and found their surreptitious way as part of the Diwali bonus for the domestic staff. Wedgwood dinner sets lost plates and bowls to end up being used at home long after they had been acquired, but without the attendant razzmatazz. Bags saved up over the years turned dull from lack of use; watches died on their batteries; Lladro and Rosenthal chipped; Hermes ties and scarves resembled something from a period film. Perfumes were too expensive to not consider being included in trousseaus even though they had evaporated, leaving the phials half-empty and causing the in-laws to snicker. All this was given, almost a tradition.
In our case, the impulse buys and souvenirs and gifts we didn’t use, we simply gave away — the trashier kitsch finding its way to country cousins on visits back home (they couldn’t have thought much of our taste!) — but nothing got put aside for the kids. But now is another matter. “Oh dear,” said my wife, when a friend pointed out a shopping list of things she had begun storing for her girls’ weddings, even though neither grooms nor even boyfriends were notable by their presence, “we simply must start stocking up for our children’s future.”
As a result, our normal, easy-going life has been disrupted beyond measure. If we buy a set of teacups for use at home, two extra sets have to be bought “for the kids”, neither of whom has shown any inclination towards drinking any such beverage. Off to pick a pair of heels for herself, my wife will find pairs on sale to use as gifts for when our daughter gets married. I’m no longer able to simply open a bottle of wine or whisky without pondering over its shelf-life and possible use at a wedding at some date in the future. Looking for a new box of cocktail glasses I knew I had bought, I was admonished by my wife, “Have you no care for the future of our son’s wedding?” That neither we nor our son has any inkling about a forthcoming wedding is simply beside the point.
It wouldn’t be so bad if it was only a case of putting away imperishables, but since she’s started stacking away jams and jellies and ketchups, herbs and sauces and dips, cases of beer and cans of cola, tins of tuna and jars of preserves, I must admit things have come to a head. I can no more ask the cook for a fresh bar of chocolate without getting my wife’s approval first. We’re now hoarders of everything from paper packets to cardboard cartons. I am no longer at liberty to order a fused bulb changed — possibly, our cache of electric bulbs is being hoarded for use by the children. “Can’t you just read by the window?” my wife retorted, when I shouted in some exasperation. “If you are going to be so wasteful, how will we ever get our children married?”