Every bride dreams of starting her new life surrounded by love, laughter, and maybe a few happy tears. I thought I had all that when I married Dan — until his mother, Karen, walked over with a smile that could curdle milk. As my husband unwrapped a check worth thousands, I opened my “gift”: an ornate box containing a handwritten guide titled “How to Be a Good Wife for My Son.” My jaw dropped. At first, I thought it was a prank, but when I realized she was serious, I knew I had married into more than just a family — I had married into a set of rules.
At first, I tried to laugh it off. Maybe Karen meant well, I thought. But as I read through her carefully typed list — everything from “wake up at 6 a.m. with full makeup” to “never let your husband see a messy kitchen” — my laughter turned to disbelief. Dan, on the other hand, didn’t seem nearly as shocked. “That’s just how Mom sees marriage,” he said casually, shrugging as if this absurdity was normal. That night, as he slept peacefully beside me, I stared at those pages and decided — if Karen wanted a “good wife,” I’d give her one. Just not the kind she expected.
The next morning, I followed every rule exactly, but with a twist. I made the blandest breakfast imaginable — a single slice of dry toast and one unseasoned egg on a giant blue plate, just as her rules demanded. I “grocery shopped alone,” returning with sparkling water instead of beer and quinoa instead of snacks. I “kept the kitchen spotless,” but stored the utensils in the laundry room and hid the toaster in the closet. When Dan’s friends came over, I dressed like a Victorian schoolteacher — long skirt, buttoned blouse, zero humor. Every absurd task became my little rebellion wrapped in obedience.
By the end of the week, Dan had had enough. One morning, as he choked down another joyless breakfast, his mother stopped by to “praise” my dedication. But before she could finish her speech, Dan finally snapped. He told her the rules were ridiculous and that our marriage wasn’t a game of control. Karen sat speechless, realizing her “rulebook” had just backfired spectacularly. I handed the box back to her with a note inside that read, “Thanks, but no thanks.” That day, Dan and I made our own rules — ones built on love, laughter, and respect — not on anyone else’s idea of perfection.