“You’re Neither a Cook nor a Maid”: How a Husband Set an Ultimatum for His Family and Everything Changed
My husband Edward comes from a large, boisterous familythree brothers, two sisters. Theyd all long since settled into their own homes with spouses and children. Yet, without fail, theyd turn up at ours. Never just for a quick cuppa, but for full-blown feasts. There was always an excuse: a birthday, a celebration, an anniversary. And every time, it was at our place. Because, as they put it, “Yours is the most convenientbig house, garden, plenty of space.” Wed bought that spacious home on the outskirts of Manchester after years of saving and hard work. The moment we had a patio, a barbecue, a patch of lawn, and a driveway, the whole family decided it was their new “holiday home.”
At first, I didnt mind. Id grown up an only child and liked feeling part of a big family. Wed set the table, grill the meat, laugh together. But soon it became a nightmare. Do you know what its like cooking for fifteen people? And not once did anyone offer to help. The women would settle straight into the shade with a glass of wine, the men would disappear to light the barbecue. Meanwhile, from dawn, Id be in the kitchenchopping, frying, washing, peeling. Serving plates, clearing up. Only Edward would poke his head in, grinning sheepishly: “Need a hand?” Biting back my frustration, Id shake my head. “Ive got it”
The worst part, though? Being the only one who looked like shed been dragged through a hedgeapron on, hair a mess, no makeup. The guests? Always immaculate, as if headed to a garden party, not a casual get-together. Id have loved to slip into a nice dress, fix my hair, sip a glass of wine. But there was never time. I was the staff.
After these gatherings, Edward would tackle the mountain of dishes and order me to rest. I could see he was exhausted. His one day off a week, ruined by shrieking kids and endless chatter. All he wanted was to order a takeaway and watch a film. But he didnt want to fall out with his family. Neither did I, so I kept quiet. Until his brother called one day.
“Well do my birthday at yours, same as usual.”
Edward hung up, turned to me, and said firmly:
“Tomorrow, you get up, put on your best dress, do your hairheck, buy something new if you want. But you do not set foot in that kitchen. Not a single toe. Understood?”
“But how” I started.
“No. They bring their own food. Youre not a cook or a maid. We deserve a break too.”
I nodded silently. It felt strange but good.
The next day, the whole family arrived. Smiles, cake boxes, meat in coolers. But the table? Empty. They exchanged confused glanceswhere were the starters, the salads, the hostess? Edward stepped forward calmly and announced:
“New rules. If you want a party, pitch in. My wife and I are tired. Shes not your servant. Either everyone contributes, or you find somewhere else.”
Silence. They ate, but the usual cheer was gone. Conversations stalled. Yet, the next time, for the first time in years, his sister hosted.
Turns out, they were capable after all. When they had to be.
