When my future father-in-law handed me a pile of his shirts to iron and said it would prove my worth as a wife, I smiled and obliged. Little did he know, karma had a lesson in store for him.
My fiancé, Mark, and I recently got engaged. We’ve been together for three years, and I was thrilled when he proposed. Mark’s parents are old-fashioned, especially his father, who believes in traditional gender roles.
Mark’s father often says, “A woman’s place is in the home.” I’ve kept my cool around him, but what happened before our engagement party was the last straw.
Mark and I share a great relationship. We met in college and clicked immediately. He’s supportive and doesn’t follow his parents’ traditional roles; we share chores equally and respect each other’s career ambitions.
The day of our engagement party was hectic. I was busy making sure everything was perfect while Mark set up decorations outside. Suddenly, FIL called out, “Hey, come here for a second!”
I hurried over, thinking he needed help. Instead, I saw a pile of shirts on the couch. He handed me an iron and said, “If you want to prove you’ll be a good wife, start by ironing these shirts. Mark deserves a woman who knows her place.”
I was fuming inside but smiled and said, “Sure, no problem.”
As I started ironing, FIL hovered around, watching me closely. He commented, “Back in my day, women took care of their men. My wife never let me leave the house with a wrinkled shirt.” I kept ironing, each stroke fueling my frustration.
Then I noticed a bottle on the ironing board. It wasn’t starch; it was a DIY vinegar spray meant for cleaning windows. A sly smile crept across my face as I continued ironing with the vinegar spray.
FIL watched, clearly pleased with himself. He made comments like, “See, you’re learning,” and “Mark is lucky to have a woman who knows her place.” Each comment fueled my determination.
Mark walked in and frowned. “Dad, what’s going on here?” he asked, his voice tinged with frustration.
FIL laughed, unfazed. “Just making sure she knows her duties,” he said with a smirk.
Mark looked at me, eyes apologetic. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered.
“It’s okay,” I replied, smiling sweetly. I wanted to show Mark I could handle this.
FIL proudly wore his freshly ironed shirt into the kitchen. Just then, Mark’s mother turned around, holding a tray of snacks. She sniffed the air and grimaced. “What is that smell?”
“It’s you! You smell like vinegar!” she shrieked, glaring at him. “What did you do?”
FIL looked bewildered. “I didn’t do anything! It must be her!” he said, pointing at me.
Mark’s mother turned to me, eyes softening. “Did you know about this?”
I shook my head. “No, I just used what was on the ironing board.”
Mark interjected, “Dad, did you mix up the bottles again?”
His father’s face turned red. “I might have…” he muttered.
Mark’s mother sighed. “This is the third time this month you’ve ruined something with your carelessness. How could she have known you mixed up the bottles? This is your fault.”
Guests started arriving, and the odd smell from FIL became apparent. He stayed in the background, pride wounded and discomfort evident.
Later that night, as we cleaned up, Mark hugged me. “I’m so sorry about my dad,” he said. “He’s always tested the women in our family, but no one has ever outsmarted him like this.”
I smiled. “I didn’t mean to, but I’m glad it worked out.”
From that day on, FIL never mentioned ironing or “women’s duties” again. Sometimes, the universe has a way of handling things perfectly.
