Pixie

I get what you're asking, but honestly, I don't think we've made it last because that implies something had to be actively done or that effort was required to be where we are. As tedious as it sounds, I think we've simply been incredibly lucky to have met each other. We've gone through a lot, and while that's sometimes been mentally exhausting, it has never negatively affected how we feel about each other. Since the very beginning, there have never been any questions between us. We know this is for life, and that allows us to be honest and passionate with each other because… there is no way out.

I can name factors that have probably made it a little easier, but since there is no parallel universe to compare it to, I don't know for sure whether these things matter or not.

We're free people. We're not part of a family or a culture (or a cult, lol) that would bind us somehow. We both have more than one citizenship. We don't have children. What I mean is that we're independent and free in this world to do whatever we want and live wherever we want without being responsible to anyone else. Whatever we decide happens between us.

We're privileged when it comes to work and money. The only conflict we used to have was Foxy wanting to pay for everything and thinking that I didn't have enough money, but that's settled now.

Being physically somewhat incompatible has caused us stress and many fiery arguments, but honestly, I wouldn't change anything. It's never boring because it can't be.

Hi, I hope you're well.

I was 30.

In Finland, there is a program called the Finnish Landrace Chicken Conservation Program (Suomalaisen maatiaiskanan säilytysohjelma). The Finnish landrace chicken is a native/indigenous breed that was believed to have gone extinct during the last century. However, some populations were found, and thanks to this conservation program, the breed still exists today. Private individuals can apply to participate in the program. There are strict regulations regarding the chickens’ living conditions and typically people keep them in their backyards. They are pets, they have names and are allowed to live freely, leading species-appropriate lives, and selective breeding based on even colour is prohibited; the only goal is to ensure the survival of the species and to maintain genetic diversity. Eggs are a by-product and if there are more eggs than the chicken-keeper needs or has use for they may sell them to outsiders.

I don’t know how to cook or bake so the gift also came with a handsome red-haired chef who has so far made me a lemon cake and an omelet.

I’ve received some variation of this message more than a hundred times. I’m worried. There is no hope, and this isn’t normal. I have to keep secrets from my best friend because she’s with “one of the good ones” and I still can’t let her know what I have for fear of unintentionally ruining what she has. Men are like the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. I’m sure that if you search through all of it you will find one diamond ring but that shouldn’t be a reason for you to marry a plastic bag full of seawater and disposable cutlery. I would never have married this plastic bag if I had known what men are like, what my actual odds were, and whatever happens to him or to us I will never remarry, because the probability of this happening twice is zero. And I would never accept anything less than what I have now.

Men aren’t allowed to see us as people, and you can’t be devoted to someone you don’t see as a person. It’s always fake. Men will prioritise their standing in the homosocial hierarchy even if they genuinely think they’re feminists and believe they’re willing to die on that hill. Just as the force of an army is never tested during peacetime, a male feminist will never have to show his hand as long as he isn’t pushed to his absolute limits – those limits being the respect of other men. If he senses that he’s sliding down that hill, he will abandon ship, let you drown and make excuses for why his feet are still dry.

I lost a childhood friend not long ago. He made a benign-sounding comment about women’s body count. Foxy spoke to him for 30 seconds, and that was enough to ruin his social life, because his ego was shattered by a man higher up in the hierarchy and because that’s all men have in the end, he couldn’t recover. A man I’d known since we were four years old, whom I considered one of my best friends, left and never contacted me again. The apologist in me felt uncomfortable for days, and that tiny voice kept saying “was it absolutely necessary to crush him like that, he was my childhood friend after all.” So I had to ask. I know you love swatting flies, but couldn’t you have spared my friend? No, because a man who spends time with me alone, has my phone number and access to me, and then says something like that needs to be tested, and he didn’t survive. Yeah. That was the only true test my friend ever went through in his life, and his remains drifted away like smoke. He was one of the good ones.

For almost two decades I tried to stand my ground, but in the end I could no longer fight back every single day. He has always wanted to be the homemaker and do everything by himself. I, on the other hand, have always been an independent Nordic woman who believes household chores should be shared equally. Yet for reasons I never fully understood, he cannot bear the sight of me doing housework. If I so much as reach for a cloth to wipe the dining table, he will instantly interject: “Honey, just leave it, I’ll take care of it.”

After my riding accident last year I spent weeks in the hospital, and many months afterwards unable to walk on my own. During that time he did everything – he kept the household running, took care of me, oversaw my rehabilitation, and even looked after my horse. Of course he never rejoiced in my condition, but during those months he seemed calmer, somehow more at ease, even a little happier, relieved perhaps that I was no longer demanding responsibilities.

When I finally regained my physical independence, our division of labor had already been completely lopsided for a long time. Still, I decided not to say anything or even lift a finger – simply to see what would unfold. And so he continued to carry the whole weight of our daily life alone and seemed to be completely in his element.

I have no responsibilities in our household. I am not a messy person, and naturally I clean up after myself, load my dishes into the dishwasher, and take my clothes to the laundry room. But that's the extent of it. He asks me what I want to eat, does the grocery shopping, cooks the meals, does my laundry, returns them neatly to my wardrobe, changes the bed sheets, cleans the flat, and pays every bill. I spend my own money only on my horse and on personal purchases. Otherwise, I’m just a pretty little flower for him to water.

A year earlier I had already given in on another front, allowing him to take my surname – a thing I had resisted for so long. Even that seemed to fill him with a quiet joy I had not foreseen.