When my mother-in-law ended up in the hospital, my husband, Mike, and I did what any good family would—we took in his father, Jeff, so he wouldn’t be alone. He seemed lost without his wife, and despite knowing his old-fashioned ways, I believed we could manage.
At first, things were fine. I cooked for everyone, helped Jeff get settled, and made sure he was comfortable. He mostly kept to himself, and I felt good knowing we were supporting him in a tough time.
But then, his attitude changed.
It started small—little things like asking for a glass of water when he was sitting right next to the kitchen. “Honey, can you grab me some milk?” “Oh, while you’re up, bring me some cookies, will ya?” I thought maybe he was just adjusting, so I didn’t make a fuss.
Then, he handed me his laundry one day.
“These need to be done by tomorrow,” he said casually. “I need them for golf.”
Something about the way he said it—the assumption that I would just do it—set off a warning bell in my head. But I still didn’t say anything. Maybe he was just used to my MIL taking care of him, and old habits died hard.
I should have put my foot down then.
Because the next part? That was the last straw.
Poker Night Disaster
One Friday evening, Jeff invited a few of his golf buddies over for poker. I didn’t mind hosting. What I did mind was what happened next.
The moment they arrived, Jeff called for me.
“Grab us some beers, will ya?”
I was in the middle of something, but fine, I got them their drinks.
A little later—
“More chips!”
I sighed but brought them chips.
Then one of his friends, smirking, called out, “Hey, sweetheart, can you get us some more dip?”
Sweetheart? Excuse me?
They were treating me like a waitress in my own home. But the worst part was Jeff’s next comment.
As his friends left, I overheard him chuckling to Mike. “See? That’s how you should treat a woman.“
I stopped in my tracks.
My heart pounded. My own husband just laughed and said nothing.
I realized then that Jeff had always treated my MIL like a maid. And now, in my own home, I was falling into the same trap. Worse, Mike was starting to copy his father’s behavior.
That was it.
The Final Straw
The next morning, I made a plan.
Jeff strolled into the kitchen, newspaper in hand, and casually said, “I’ll have eggs and toast this morning.”
I smiled sweetly. “Oh? That’s nice.”
He frowned. “Well? Are you going to make it?”
I leaned against the counter. “The stove’s right there. Help yourself.”
His face twisted. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, Jeff.” I crossed my arms. “Your arms ain’t broken. You can make your own breakfast.”
Mike walked in, looking confused. “What’s going on?”
Jeff scoffed. “AND YOU’LL ALLOW HER TO DO THIS?!”
Mike opened his mouth to respond, but I turned to him before he could say a word.
“Actually, Mike,” I said sweetly, “why don’t you make both your father’s breakfast and his laundry today? Since that’s how men ‘should treat women,’ right?”
Mike paled. “I—uh—”
I didn’t let him finish. “Oh, and I hope you don’t mind serving snacks at poker night next week. Since you seem to think I should do it, it must be easy.“
Jeff’s jaw dropped. Mike looked like a deer in headlights.
“Let me make one thing clear,” I continued. “I am not your maid. Not yours, not Jeff’s, not any man’s. You want something? Get up and get it yourself. Because this nonsense? Ends today.“
Silence.
Then, Mike finally spoke. “I… I think I’ll make some eggs for myself too.”
Smart man.
Jeff? He never pulled that stunt again.