Home Life Style Why there’s nothing more tedious than a social climber… especially when it’s your husband

Why there’s nothing more tedious than a social climber… especially when it’s your husband

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Since being fired, Kate Johnson's husband has turned his attention to domestic life, seemingly desperate to outdo his friends, family and neighbors at all times (represented by a model).

Anyone walking into our kitchen right now would be forgiven for thinking they’ve stumbled upon the home of Mary Berry or Kirstie Allsopp.

The table is covered with ingredients for elaborate Christmas puddings and I keep tripping over various pieces of foliage waiting to be woven into an oversized wreath for the door.

In the middle of all this is my husband John, engrossed in the ‘Your Homemade Christmas’ videos he found on YouTube.

“You do realize you can buy these things ready-made at M&S,” I said.

He says yes, which is why he’s going to so much trouble in the first place.

“When people come, they will appreciate my efforts,” John says. “Then they’ll go home feeling completely inadequate… and I’ll be the winner of Christmas 2024!”

Yuck. Is there anything less attractive than a man who turns every social interaction into a competition that he inevitably wins?

In March, John accepted termination from his senior position at a Fortune 500 company at the age of 60. He collected his company pension, paid everything, which allowed him to “stop working and start living.”

Since being fired, Kate Johnson’s husband has turned his attention to domestic life, seemingly desperate to outdo his friends, family and neighbors at all times (represented by a model).

He went from being a big shot with dozens of employees under him to, well, being at home with too much time on his hands. And now I realize how much his career must have saved me from the highly competitive part of his personality.

Desperate to find a new outlet for his focus and drive, he has turned his attention to domestic life, seemingly desperate to outdo our friends, family, and neighbors at every turn.

Every time my friends come over for coffee, he’s more interested in showing off his new high-spec Audi than listening to them. And when he offers cookies, he points out that they are from Waitrose.

In fact, my friends and I have secretly started calling him Hyacinth Bucket, after the snobbish ’90s sitcom character who was always trying to impress friends and neighbors.

And to think I was thrilled when John retired for the first time. We talked about buying a camper and turning every weekend into a long one, and I planned to reduce my hours at the dental office where I work as a receptionist so we could spend more time together. Those plans have been shelved.

Kate and her friends now secretly call her husband Hyacinth Bucket, after the snobby '90s sitcom character (pictured) who is always trying to impress friends and neighbors.

Kate and her friends now secretly call her husband Hyacinth Bucket, after the snobby ’90s sitcom character (pictured) who is always trying to impress friends and neighbors.

At first, John’s presence in the house was pleasant, even simple. But then I suggested he help our daughter Kirsty by taking our six-year-old grandson, Teddy, to school every morning or so and the tiger mums at the school gate reignited his old competitive spirit.

I didn’t think much of it when he started mentioning the names of the pushy parents Kirsty had complained about: the catwalk-dressed types, who boasted about their children’s reading skills.

But alarm bells rang when John sent Teddy home with a freezer bag full of cheesy chicken nuggets he’d made from scratch, courtesy of a recipe from Nigella… plus a note detailing the additives Kirsty gets in from Aldi.

Then she insisted that we host Teddy’s next birthday party, “so the other moms could see how it’s done.” He planned a bouncy castle, a magician and even an ice cream van. Fortunately, Kirsty stood her ground.

John was no longer a corporate boss, but he still found ways to show the rest of us a thing or two. Never dedicated to housework or cooking, boredom turned our home into a new territory that he had to conquer.

Last summer, he started growing fancy dahlias, all so he could “rub old Frank’s nose” for being outdone by a newbie. Old Frank is the 80-something widower next door who grows huge flowers that could win awards, but has actually been giving them away since his wife died.

I was so incensed by John’s motives that I’ve secretly been depositing slugs on his budding plants as sabotage.

Meanwhile, that caravan of retirees I had imagined is no longer enough. Now John is looking for a seaside cabin and plans to finance part of the cost by charging our friends and family to stay there.

Even Patch, our scruffy and much-loved nine-year-old rescued stray, is not safe. John has said that when Patch dies he wants us to get something ‘a little more middle class’ like a cockapoo.

Last Sunday he even told his 87-year-old mother that his level was declining after she prepared us a roast with granulated sauce.

He made all the food leaning on a stick. She didn’t react, but I bet she felt like hitting him with that.

I’m much less reticent and tell John regularly how annoying he is being. But he just brushes it off. The thing is, like Hyacinth’s long-suffering husband Richard, I still love John dearly.

And that’s why I keep telling myself that he still hasn’t adapted to this new pace of life. That things will get better and it won’t be so unpleasant anymore. Let’s hope we’re not misleading me.

  • Kate Johnson is a pseudonym. The names have been changed.

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