Knew a guy when I was a kid. Handsome man, amateur magician, and he loved his hobby. His wife was useless. She was always "feeling poorly." Her career was being ill.
She had endless surgeries to remove something or put something in. He had to work two jobs to pay the insurance premiums and the bills...and he did everything else, too.
I asked him one day what she did.
Did she clean? No.
Did she cook? No.
Did she wash? No.
Did she do ANYTHING around the house? No.
While she didn't contribute to the house she did have the strength to be demanding and shrill. Amazing, where the energy to do that can always be tapped, when the energy to do anything else seems always missing.
Anyway, she was always this great lump the few times I visited his house. She was unpleasant to be around for more than five minutes.
Buying and playing with magic was his only pleasure and he never told her what he paid for things, always telling her that it was "something he'd had for years," lest she take that small pleasure away from him.
Of course, she outlived him and years later, after leaving his stuff out in the elements, she sold it off...mostly piles of rusted junk and sodden paper.
As it was, a local antique dealer who knew nothing about magic, paid her a pittance for the few items that were still of value, selling them at a flea market over the ensuing months to the occasional magician who stumbled on his stand.
I heard about it too late to participate as I so wanted to look her in the eye and tell her that had she taken proper care of her husband's toys she could have pulled in $20,000...maybe more. I would have loved to see the look on her face when she learned that.