“You’re Neither a Cook Nor a Maid”: How a Husband Set an Ultimatum for His Family and Everything Changed
My husband Oliver comes from a large, boisterous familythree brothers, two sisters. All had long since settled into their own homes with spouses and children. Yet, without fail, theyd turn up at ours. Not 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 so convenientbig house, lovely garden.” Wed worked and saved for years to buy that spacious home on the outskirts of Manchester. The moment we had a patio, a barbecue, a patch of lawn, and a parking space, the whole family decided it was now their “holiday retreat.”
At first, I didnt mind. Id grown up an only child, so being part of a big family felt nice. Wed set the table, grill the meat, laugh together. But soon it became a nightmare. Do you know what its like cooking for fifteen or more? And no one ever asked if they could help. The women would settle straight into the shade with a glass of wine, the men would head off to light the barbecue. Meanwhile, Id been in the kitchen since dawnchopping, frying, washing, peeling. Serving plates, clearing up. Only Oliver would pop his head in, smiling sheepishly: “Need a hand?” Biting back my frustration, Id shake my head: “Ive got it.”
The worst part wasnt the work, though. It was facing the guestsdishevelled, apron on, no makeupwhile they were always impeccably dressed, as if heading to a garden party rather than a casual get-together. Id have loved to slip into a nice dress, fix my hair, enjoy a drink. But I never had the time. I was the staff.
After these gatherings, Oliver would tackle the mountain of dishes himself and order me to rest. I could see he was exhausted. His one day off a week, wasted on shrieking kids and endless chatter. All he wanted was to relax, order a takeaway, watch a film. But he wouldnt upset his family. Neither would Iuntil his brother called one day.
“Were celebrating my birthday at yours, same as usual.”
Oliver hung up, turned to me, and said:
“Tomorrow, you get up, put on your best dress, do your hair. If you fancy it, wear makeup. Well even buy you something new. Butyou dont set foot in the kitchen. Not a 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 odd, but good.
The next day, the whole family arrivedall smiles, carrying cake boxes and meat in bags. But the table was empty. They exchanged confused glances: where were the starters, the salads, where was the hostess? Oliver stepped forward calmly and said:
“New rules. If you want a party, pitch in. My wife and I are tired. Shes not your servant. Either everyone brings something, or you find somewhere else.”
Silence fell. They ate, but the usual cheer was gone. Conversations dragged. Yet, the next time, for the first time in years, one of the sisters hosted instead.
Turns out, they were capablewhen they wanted to be.
