My father-in-law never respected women, not even his own wife, and acts like it's 1955.

 


My father-in-law never respected women, not even his own wife, and acts like it's 1955. He believes women belong in the kitchen and laundry room. On my birthday, he flung his shirt at me, demanded I iron it, and barked orders to cook him a meal. I handed him something else: a lesson he won't forget.

It was supposed to be a good day. My first birthday as a married woman. Nothing big... just a few close friends and family, food, laughter, maybe a cute cake with too many candles.

I was upstairs with my half-curled hair clipped like some kind of confused poodle, eyeliner frozen mid-wing, and robe tied tight like I was about to win a boxing match against my reflection.

My fingers trembled as I attempted to apply eyeliner for the third time. The stress of hosting my birthday party had my hands shaking like I'd mainlined espresso all morning... which, honestly, wasn't far from the truth.

"Just breathe, Judie," I whispered to my reflection. "Everything's under control."

The bedroom door swung open without so much as a knock. Richard, my husband Nick's father, appeared in the doorway, his weathered face arranged in its usual expression of mild disapproval.

"Hey!" he said, tossing a button-up shirt at me that landed with a soft thud on the vanity. "Iron this for me, will ya? And I'm starving. Make me something to eat before everyone gets here. A sandwich will do."

I set my makeup brush down slowly, the bathroom counter suddenly feeling like the only solid thing in a spinning room. I was still in my bathrobe, hair half-curled, face half-done, and here he was, making demands like I was a maid he'd hired.

"I'm kind of in the middle of getting ready, Richard. The party starts in an hour."

"So? This'll only take you a few minutes. You're good at this stuff, right?"

"Good at what stuff, exactly?"

"You know," he gestured vaguely at me, the house, and everything around. "Woman stuff. Cooking, ironing. Cleaning. Susie always had my shirts ready."

My mother-in-law, Susie, who finally divorced him after 30 years of exactly this kind of treatment.

"Is there a reason you can't iron it yourself?"

Richard snorted. "Because it's a woman's job!" He said it so casually, like he was telling me water was wet. "You're a woman, aren't you? It's your job!"

I stared at him in disbelief. I'd spent a year tiptoeing around his casual sexism for Nick's sake. A year of biting my tongue when he complained about "women drivers" or explained my own profession to me. A year of Richard treating our home like his personal hotel whenever he visited.

But today was my birthday. My day. And I wasn't about to let him stomp in and play king like he owned the place.

"Sure, Richard!" I said, smiling. "Give me 15 minutes."

He nodded, satisfied, and wandered off to the living room where I could hear the TV click on.

Nick appeared in the doorway moments later, his eyes apologetic. "Was that my dad bothering you again?"

"Nothing I can't handle! Actually, I think it's time your father and I reached an understanding."

"Oh no, Juds! What are you planning?"

I just smiled. "Go keep your dad company. I've got some woman stuff to take care of."... (continue reading in the 1st comment)

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