You’re neither a cook nor a servant: how a husband gave his family an ultimatum and everything changed
My husband Étienne comes from a big, noisy clanthree brothers and two sisters, all of whom have long since set up their own households with spouses and children. Yet they kept showing up at our place, not just for a coffee but for fullblown meals. There was always an excuse: a birthday, a celebration, an anniversary, and every time it was at our home. Its convenient for youyour house is big and you have a garden, they would say.
We had indeed bought a spacious house on the outskirts of Lyon after years of work and saving. Once we had a terrace, a grill, a patch of lawn and a parking space, the whole family decided that our home was now their defacto second residence.
At first I liked it. I grew up alone, without siblings, and I was happy to be part of a large family. We set the table, sliced meat, laughed together. But soon it turned into a nightmare. Do you know what it means to cook for more than fifteen people? Nobody ever asked if they could help. The women would settle in the shade with a glass of wine, the men would go light the barbecue, and I was already in the kitchen at dawnchopping, sautéing, washing, peeling, plating, clearing dishes. Only Étienne would look up with a guilty smile and ask, Do you need help? I would shake my head, trying not to show my irritation: Ive got it.
The worst part was that I always ended up in front of the guests, hair a mess, apron on, no makeup, while they were dressed to the nines as if attending a gala, not a country house gathering. I, too, would have liked to slip into a nice dress, do my hair, sit with a glass of winebut I never had the time. I was the staff.
After those evenings Étienne would wash the mountain of dishes himself and tell me to go rest. He looked exhausted. He had only one day off a week, and even that was ruined by childrens cries and endless chatter. He dreamed of relaxing, ordering a pizza, watching a film, but he didnt want to upset his family. I kept quiet, 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 you get up, put on your nicest dress, do your hair, and if you want, wear makeup. We can even buy you something new. But you do not set foot in the kitchen. Not a toe. Understood?
How? I began.
No. Let them bring their own food. You are not a cook or a servant. We also deserve a break.
I nodded silently. It felt odd, but also a relief.
The next day the whole family arrived, smiling, with cake boxes and bags of meat. But the table was empty. They exchanged puzzled lookswhere were the appetizers, the salads, the host? Étienne calmly stepped forward and announced,
New rule: if you want a party, you have to take part. My wife and I are tired. She doesnt have to serve you. Either everyone brings something, or you find another place for your celebration.
A hush fell. They ate, but without the usual cheer. Conversation stumbled. Yet the following time, for the first time in years, one of the sisters invited everyone to her house.
Apparently, they could do itwhen they chose to.
