You’re neither a cook nor a maid: how a husband set an ultimatum for his family and everything changed
My husband Étienne comes from a large, noisy clanthree brothers and two sisters, all already settled with their own spouses and children. Still, they inevitably turned up at our place, not just for coffee but for fullblown feasts. There was always a reason: a birthday, a party, an anniversary, and every time it meant gathering at our house because, as they put it, your home is convenient, its big, theres a garden. After years of work and saving we finally bought a spacious house on the outskirts of Lyon, complete with a terrace, a barbecue, a patch of lawn and a parking space. As soon as those amenities were there, the whole family declared it their new second home.
At first I liked it. Id grown up alone, without siblings, so being part of a big family felt nice. We set the table, sliced the meat, and laughed together. Then it turned into a nightmare. Do you know what it takes to cook for more than fifteen people? No one ever asked whether they could lend a hand. The women would settle in the shade with a glass of wine, the men went off to light the grill, and from dawn I was already in the kitchenchopping, sautéing, washing, peeling, plating, clearing the dirty dishes. Only Étienne would peek in with a guilty smile, Need any help? I would shake my head, trying to hide my irritation: Ive got it.
The worst part wasnt the work itself but standing before the guests, hair in disarray, apron on, no makeup, while they were all dressed to the nines as if attending a gala, not a country house. I too wanted to slip into a nice dress, have my hair done, sit with a glass of winebut there was never any time. I was the staff.
After those evenings Étienne would wash the mountain of dishes himself and tell me to go rest. I could see he was exhausted. He had only one day off a week, and even that was ruined by childrens screams and endless chatter. He dreamed of relaxing, ordering a pizza, watching a film, but didnt want to upset his family. I stayed silent, too, until his brother called one day.
Were celebrating my birthday at your place, as usual.
Étienne hung up, turned to me, and said, Tomorrow, get up, wear your nicest dress, do your hair, and if you want, put on some makeup. We can even buy you something new. Butdont set foot in the kitchen. Not a single toe. Understand?
How can? I began.
No. Let them bring their own food. Youre not a cook or a maid. We also deserve a break.
I nodded quietly. It felt strange, but also relieving.
The next day the entire family arrived with smiles, cake boxes, bags of meat. The table, however, was empty. They exchanged bewildered lookswhere were the starters, the salads, the hostess? Étienne calmly stepped forward and announced, New rules: if you want a party, you have to take part. My wife and I are tired. She doesnt have to serve you. Either each of you brings something, or you find another place for your festivities.
A silence fell. They ate, but the cheer that used to fill the room was gone, and conversation struggled to start. Yet the following gathering, for the first time in years, one of the sisters invited everyone over to her house.
Apparently they could do itwhen they chose to.
