**”You’re Not a Cook or 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. All had long since settled into their own homes, with children and partners. Yet they always turned up at oursinevitably. 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 just so convenientbig house, lovely garden.”* Wed worked for years, saving every penny, to buy that spacious home on the outskirts of Manchester. The moment we had a patio, a barbecue, a patch of lawn, and a driveway, the family decided it was their new “*holiday home.*”
At first, I didnt mind. Id grown up an only childno siblings, no noise. Being part of a big family felt warm. Wed set the table, grill sausages, laugh together. But then it became unbearable. Do you know what its like to cook for fifteen people? And not one of them ever offered to help. The women would settle in the shade with a glass of wine, the men would disappear to light the barbecue. And me? Up at dawn, stuck in the kitchen. Chopping, frying, washing, peeling. Serving plates, clearing up. Only Edward would poke his head in, guilt written all over his face. *”Need a hand?”* Id bite back my frustration. *”Ive got it.”*
But the worst part wasnt the work. It was facing the guestshair wild, apron streaked, no makeup. Meanwhile, they looked like theyd stepped out of a magazine, as if this were a garden party, not a casual gathering. I wanted to slip into a nice dress, fix my hair, sit down with a glass of prosecco. But I never had the chance. I was the staff.
After these evenings, Edward would scrub the mountain of dishes and order me to rest. I could see the exhaustion in him. One day off a week, and it was ruined by shrieking kids and endless chatter. All he wanted was to order a takeaway, watch a film, unwind. But he wouldnt confront his family. Neither would I. Until his brother called one day.
*”Were celebrating my birthday at yourssame as always.”*
Edward hung up, turned to me, and said:
*”Tomorrow, you wake up, put on your best dress, do your hairhell, buy something new if you want. But you dont 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 entire family arrivedall smiles, carrying cake boxes and bags of meat. But the table was empty. They exchanged confused glances. Where were the starters? The salads? Where was the hostess? Then Edward stepped forward, calm but firm.
*”New rules. If you want a party, pitch in. My wife and I are tired. Shes not here to serve you. Either everyone brings something, or you find somewhere else.”*
Silence fell. They ate, but the usual cheer was gone. Conversations stuttered. Yet the next time, for the first time in years, Edwards sister invited everyone to hers.
Turns out, they could manage it. When they had to.
