I received a frilly apron from my new spouse a week after moving in. He termed it my “house uniform.” He called it “just tradition.” Though shocked, I grinned and played along. He thought he wanted a Stepford Wife until I proved him wrong.
After one week of marriage, I was still euphoric from the ceremony, honeymoon, and unpacking our new house.
Derek’s key in the lock and footsteps down the hall were audible.
“Honey? “I’m home,” he said, his voice humorous when excited.
“In the kitchen,” I said, placing down a crystal serving bowl his aunt gave us for our wedding.
Derek entered the doorway with his suit jacket over one shoulder and a cocky grin. He held a huge ribbon-tied box in his free hand.
“Surprise!” He twitched his eyebrows and gave me the gift.
My heart raced. We decided no more gifts after the wedding, but I couldn’t help smiling.
What’s this?
“Open and see.” He leaned against the counter, anticipating my response.
Untied the ribbon, I raised the lid.
Instead of jewelry or something nice, I saw a pretty flowered apron neatly folded on top of a faded ankle-length dress.
I blinked, sure I missed something.
“It’s your house uniform,” Derek boasted. “My mom wore one daily. Everything feels more organized.”
I stroked the cotton apron and cautiously examined the black garment. Did “house uniform” mean Puritan dress? Just a broad collar and bonnet were missing.
You’re serious? My voice was flat as I asked.
Winking, Derek doubled down. “Totally. It’s tradition, so no pressure. Keeps the homemaker mindset, y’know?”
I watched his face for signs of kidding. Not one.
“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” he said, implying I should thank him.
“It’s definitely a surprise,” I said, trying to remain neutral.
What was happening shocked me. Although I hadn’t signed up for this, I questioned whether I should have seen it coming.
I met Derek as a successful analyst. After a year of dating, he told me I’d love being a homemaker, especially because we wanted two or three kids.
He promised his employment would support us fully.
When I offered working remotely, he said I’d be happier as a traditional wife, able to rediscover myself, try new interests, and focus on the baby.
I agreed to try it.
But this? The next level.
“So? You think? Derek suggested.
I examined him intently. His eyes sparkled and his smile was like a youngster watching July 4th fireworks. He was naive, not evil.
“Traditional, you say?” I succeeded.
His face shone. “Yeah! This matches my mom’s clothes.”
“Right. Like your mom.” Carefully, I closed the package. “I’ll try it on later.”
“Great! Excited to see.” He changed in the bedroom after kissing my cheek.
Alright, I said. Let him think I’m joking.
I gently draped the uniform across our bed that night. I took out my dusty college-era sewing kit from the cupboard to implement a plan.
My hubby would get a memorable wake-up call!
I became a 1950s fantasy wife overnight.
I religiously wore the outfit while preparing Derek breakfast before sunrise, vacuuming in my grandmother’s pearls, and kneeling to scrub baseboards.
“See? Doesn’t it make things better? Derek smiled as I flipped pancakes in the entire outfit on the third morning.
I said, “Oh, absolutely,” in a pleasant voice.
On day five, I was playing house to the fullest.
I completed stitching my vehement protest. My embroidered name tag read “DEREK’S FULL-TIME HOUSEWIFE.”
I started calling Derek “sir.”
“Good morning, sir,” I said as he descended. “Your breakfast is ready. Sir, should I pour your coffee or should you?
Nervously, Derek laughed. “Honey, the uniform is enough. No need to call me “sir.”
I inclined my head innocently. “Sir, should I wait by the door with your slippers at 6 p.m. sharp?”
He frowned. “What? No.”
Later that night, I gently knocked on his office door. “May I use the bathroom during my shift, sir?”
Derek’s smile waned. “Okay, don’t be sarcastic.”
“Sarcastic? I assumed tradition.” I showed my clothing, including the frilly apron and thrift store white gloves.
Some coworkers and Derek’s boss came over for supper that weekend.
As they entered, I opened the door wide and curtsied almost to the floor in uniform.
“Welcome to our home,” I said. “The master of the house will greet you shortly.”
“Er…are you Derek’s wife?” Richard, his boss, questioned as I took his coat.
Pointing at my nametag. I am, sir.”
He smiled awkwardly. “That’s… What did you do before marriage?
“Oh, I retired my dreams when I said ‘I do,’” Replied with a calm smile. “Derek likes that.”
The room cooled. Derek turned beet crimson after descending the stairs.
“Didn’t we agree that this joke was over the top?” He said as he ran to welcome his coworkers.
“But I’m not joking, sir,” I said. «I’m doing my job as your wife»
Derek’s coworker Anita squinted. Proper role?
“The homemaker,” I said proudly. Derek values tradition. The apron keeps you positive.” Smoothed my hands over the ruffled fabric. “Isn’t it darling? As his mother wore.”
Derek’s smile froze. Richard shifted uncomfortably. Anita’s eyebrows almost reached her hairline.
Is that so? Richard inquired, gazing between us.
“Julia has a unique sense of humor,” Derek remarked faintly.
Derek became increasingly uneasy as supper progressed. I served the dinner mechanically and only spoke when asked.
After visitors left, Derek exploded.
“What was that?” he yanked his tie in anger. “You’re making me look like a sexist pig!”
I mocked innocence: “Me? I’m living your dream. Tradition, remember?
Not what I meant by tradition! Cracked voice.
So what did you mean? I asked softly, smiling. “From my perspective, a ‘house uniform’ sends a pretty clear message about your expectations.”
“Just thought… My mom always—” he sputtered.
“Your mom chose that for herself,” I said. I hope she did. You choose it for me.”
Hands ran through his hair. “Fine. Yes, I understand. The uniform was overkill.”
“The uniform was symptom,” I corrected. “When we married, Derek, I agreed to try your way, but I never agreed to serve you. If that’s what you want, stay unmarried and hire a housekeeper.”
I hung the apron on a kitchen hook.
“I’m never wearing that thing again,” I said. “And you need to think long and hard about whether you married me because you love me or because you wanted a replacement Mommy.”
I left and went to bed while he protested that he married me for love.
On Monday morning, Derek kissed me goodbye like nothing had happened. However, he returned that evening pallid and tight-lipped, dropping his keys on the entry table.
“Rough day?” I asked from the couch, wearing jeans and a t-shirt with my laptop on my knees.
“I got called into HR,” he croaked. Someone took your wife’s performance seriously. They inquired if my ‘traditional values’ affected my workplace treatment of women. The corporation is conducting a ‘diversity audit,’ and they will observe me closely.”
I feigned surprise with lifted eyebrows.
“Really? I stated “that’s terrible” without meaning it.
He noticed the apron in the kitchen.
“You win,” he whispered. “I… I saw an attractive lifestyle without recognizing its dangers.”
I shut my laptop. That way, we both win. I can wear pants again and you can keep your job. I chose a remote job after all. I applied for jobs today.”
It occurred to me that he may argue. Instead, he nodded slowly.
“I’m sorry,” he finalized. Mom always seemed happy in her role, I thought.
I concluded for him, “You thought I’d be happy, too, but I’m not her.
I stuffed the uniform in the closet back that night.
We might use it and joke about it someday. Maybe we’d burn it in the backyard. I turned away from the closet with a grin.
Victory smelled stronger than lemon polish, and I wore it better than any outfit he could buy.