Are you a submissive man?!The motherinlaw was horrified to see her son handling breakfast on his own.
Whats this, a man in the kitchen?! she exclaimed, shocked that her son was preparing the morning meal himself.
Valentine Lefèvre had finally come to see us after eight years. Since my wedding to her son Théo, she had never set foot in our apartment. Living in a tiny village near Bordeaux, she rarely ventured into the cityage, health, and the farms duties kept her tied to home. Yet this time she insisted: Im coming to check how you live. After all, you have a family, a mortgaged flat I have to make sure everythings alright.
Honestly, I was relieved. All those years went by without a visit or even a call. I hoped this would finally break the ice. We greeted her properly: a ready bedroom, homemade dishes, a soft robe and cozy slippers. Théo and I did our best. Between work and household chores it wasnt easy, but she deserved our attention.
The first days passed peacefully, without incident. Then Saturday morning arrived. I allowed myself to sleep in after a grueling week. Théo, ever thoughtful, got up earlier. He liked to do little things that pleased me. That day he decided to surprise both his mother and me with a 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 Théo, being so considerate. The calm lasted only a moment, however, until Valentine entered the kitchen.
Her voice cut through the door:
What are you doing, my son? At 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 apron off right now! A man in the kitchen is a disgrace! Thats not why I raised you! Your father never washed a dish in his life, and now youre making omelettes like a servant! And Camillewhy is she still in bed? Thats her place! Youre completely under her control, its pathetic!
I stayed under the covers, fists clenched, torn between laughing and stepping in. Her words repulsed me. I felt ashamed for Théo, hurt for myself, and feared the visit would leave lasting damage between us.
I got up just as her indignation peaked. Théo still held his spatula, the omelette calmly turning over the fire. Valentine trembled with anger, muttering about decadence, irresponsibility, and a man must be a man.
I quickly brewed a soothing herbal 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 household things work differently. Were partners. I cook, I clean, I work. Théo helps, too. He cooks because he enjoys it, because he cares for us. Is that such a crime?
She didnt listen. Her face was set, 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 an embrace, I realized she would never accept our way of life.
Later, Théo told me she had called his father to complain: Our boy has become his wifes slave, the poor thing cant even sleepup at dawn by the pots. I thought, how sad it is to raise a man to believe caring for others is a weakness, that love is shameful.
Im not angry, just saddenedsaddened for her, who grew up thinking 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 isnt weak. Hes simply someone who loves. If that bothers anyone too bad for them.
Are You a Submissive Man?!” — The Shocked Mother-in-Law Watches in Horror as Her Son Prepares Breakfast on His Own
