Are you a submissive man?! The motherinlaw gasped when she saw her son making breakfast himself.
What on earth is this, a man in the kitchen?! she exclaimed, horrified to discover her son preparing the morning meal on his own.
Valentine Lefèvre had finally visited us after eight years. Since my marriage to her son Théo, she had never set foot in our home. She lived in a tiny village near Bordeaux and rarely traveled to the cityage, health, and farm duties kept her bound. Yet this time she insisted: Im coming to see how you live. After all, you have a family, a mortgaged apartment I need to make sure everythings alright.
Honestly, I was relieved. All those years there had been no visits, no phone calls to check in. I hoped we could finally break the ice. We welcomed her properly: a prepared guest room, traditional dishes, a cozy robe and soft slippers. Théo and I did our best. Between work and household chores it wasnt easy, but she deserved our care.
The first days passed quietly, without incident. Then Saturday morning arrived. I allowed myself to sleep in after a week of relentless work. Théo, ever thoughtful, got up earlier. He liked to find little ways to please me. That day he decided to surprise both his mother and me with breakfast.
Halfasleep, I heard the kitchen soundsthe sizzle of a pan, the coffee maker humming, the scent of buttered toast. I smiled, feeling lighthearted. My man, my caring Théo. The peace was shortlived, however, as Valentine entered the kitchen.
Her voice cut through the doorway:
What are you doing, my son? Behind the stove? Wearing an apron?!
Mom, I was just making breakfast. You must be tired from the trip, and Camille is still sleepinglet her rest. Besides, you know I enjoy cooking
Take that away right now! A man in the kitchenhow disgraceful! Thats not why I raised you! Your father never washed a dish in his life, and now youre making omelettes like a servant! And Camille, why is she staying in bed? Thats her role! Youre completely under her thumb, its pathetic!
I stayed under the covers, fists clenched, torn between laughing and intervening. Her words sickened me. I felt ashamed for Théo, hurt for myself, and feared this visit would leave lasting scars between us.
I left the room just as her indignation threatened to choke her. Théo still held his spatula, the omelette calmly browning over the flame. Valentine trembled with anger, muttering about decadence, irresponsibility, and a man must be a man.
I quickly brewed a soothing teawithout it we might have suffered a heart attack on the spot. Sitting beside her, I took her hand and tried to explain calmly:
In our home things work differently. Were partners. I cook, I clean, I work. Théo helps too. He cooks because he likes it, because he cares for us. Is that such a crime?
She didnt listen. Her face was hard, her gaze full of judgment. She said nothing, but her expression spoke: Youve turned my son into a weakling. When she left a few days later without even giving us a hug, I realized she would never accept our way of life.
Later, Théo confessed that she had called his father to complain: Our boy has become his wifes slave, the poor thing cant even sleepup at dawn standing over pots. I thought, how sad it is to raise a man to believe that caring for others is a weakness, that love is a shame.
Im not angry, just sorrowfulfor her, who spent a life believing the kitchen was a prison; for him, who had to fight for the right to be a good husband; and for me, because I had hoped we could become close.
One thing I do know: my man is not weak. He is someone who loves. If that doesnt please everyone thats their problem.
Are You A Submissive Man?!” — The Bewildered Mother-in-Law Stares in Shock as Her Son Whips Up Breakfast on His Own
