Just a week after my husband and I moved in together, he handed me a box with a frilly apron and an old-fashioned dress, calling it my “house uniform.” He said it was a tradition in his family and thought it would help keep the home “in order.” Though I was shocked, I smiled and accepted it—outwardly. Inside, I was already planning my next move.
To drive the message home, I embraced the role—but took it to the extreme. I wore the outfit daily, called him “sir,” and greeted his coworkers in full uniform, acting out every outdated stereotype to make my point. I even added a custom name tag that read “DEREK’S FULL-TIME HOUSEWIFE.” What started as a silent protest quickly became something he couldn’t ignore.
The act worked. His coworkers were uncomfortable, and Derek himself began to panic when HR got involved after the dinner party. He finally admitted he hadn’t thought through what he was asking of me. That’s when I told him I’d be returning to work and wouldn’t be wearing the apron again. Our marriage needed partnership, not performance.
By the end, he understood. We both agreed to rebuild things with mutual respect. The apron went to the back of the closet, and with it, any illusion that a “tradition” could be forced. I chose my role—and it wasn’t one anyone else could assign me.