A week after moving in with my new husband, he gave me a frilly apron and called it my “house uniform.” He said it was “just tradition.” I was shocked but smiled and went along. He thought he wanted a perfect housewife—until I showed him he was wrong.
One week into marriage, I was still excited from the wedding, the honeymoon, and unpacking in our new home.
I heard Derek’s key in the door, then his footsteps.
“Honey, I’m home!” he called, sounding happy.
“In the kitchen,” I answered, putting down a nice bowl we got as a wedding gift.
Derek stood in the doorway, his suit jacket over his shoulder, grinning. He held a box with a ribbon.
“Surprise!” he said, handing it to me.
I smiled, curious. We’d agreed no more gifts, but I couldn’t help being excited.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Open it,” he said, watching me.
I untied the ribbon and looked inside. Instead of something sweet, like a necklace, there was a frilly apron and a long, old-fashioned dress.
I stared, confused.
“It’s your house uniform,” Derek said proudly. “My mom wore one every day. It keeps things neat.”
I touched the apron, eyeing the dress. It looked like something from a hundred years ago.
“Are you serious?” I asked, keeping my voice calm.
He winked. “Yup. No pressure, just tradition. Helps you feel like a homemaker.”
I looked at him, hoping he was joking. He wasn’t.
“It’s a nice surprise,” he said, like I should be happy.
“It’s… something,” I said, hiding my shock.
I couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t what I agreed to. But maybe I should’ve seen it coming.
I met Derek when I was a busy office worker. While we dated, he convinced me I’d love being a homemaker, especially since we wanted kids someday. He said his job would cover everything, and I could enjoy hobbies or focus on babies later.
When I mentioned working from home, he said I’d be happier as a “traditional wife.” I agreed to try it.
But a “house uniform”? That was too much.
“What do you think?” Derek asked, smiling big.
I looked at him. He wasn’t mean, just clueless.
“It’s… traditional?” I said.
“Exactly!” he said, thrilled. “Like my mom’s.”
“I’ll try it on later,” I said, closing the box.
“Great!” He kissed my cheek and went to change.
Okay, I thought. Let him think I’m okay with this.
That night, I laid the uniform on our bed. I had a plan. I grabbed my old sewing kit from the closet.
Derek was about to get a big lesson.
—
I turned into a perfect old-school wife overnight. I wore the dress every day, made breakfast early, vacuumed in my grandma’s pearls, and cleaned floors on my knees.
“See? Doesn’t this make things better?” Derek said on day three, watching me make pancakes in the outfit.
“Oh, sure,” I said, smiling sweetly.
By day five, I wasn’t just playing house—I was acting like a movie star. I’d sewn a name tag on the apron: “DEREK’S HOUSEWIFE.”
I started calling him “sir.”
“Good morning, sir,” I said as he came downstairs. “Breakfast is ready. Want me to pour your coffee, sir?”
Derek laughed nervously. “You don’t need to say ‘sir,’ honey.”
I tilted my head. “Should I wait by the door with your slippers at 6 p.m., sir?”
He frowned. “No, that’s not what I meant.”
That evening, I knocked on his office door. “Can I use the bathroom, sir?”
Derek’s smile faded. “Stop joking around.”
“Joking?” I said, pointing to my apron. “I thought this was tradition.”
That weekend, Derek’s boss and coworkers came for dinner. I greeted them in the full outfit, bowing low as they walked in.
“Welcome to our home,” I said. “The master of the house will be down soon.”
“Are you Derek’s wife?” his boss, Richard, asked, looking confused.
I pointed to my name tag. “That’s me, sir.”
He looked uneasy. “What did you do before this?”
“I gave up my dreams when I got married,” I said with a fake smile. “Derek likes it that way.”
The room got quiet. Derek, coming downstairs, turned red.
“Honey, isn’t this joke too much?” he said, greeting his guests.
“I’m not joking, sir,” I said. “I’m being the wife you wanted.”
Anita, a coworker, raised an eyebrow. “What’s that mean?”
“The homemaker role,” I said cheerfully. “Derek loves tradition. This apron keeps me in line. Cute, right? Like his mom’s.”
Derek’s face froze. Richard looked awkward. Anita’s eyebrows shot up.
“Really?” Richard asked, glancing at Derek.
“Julia’s just kidding,” Derek said nervously.
Dinner was tense. Derek got more uncomfortable every minute. I served food like a robot and only spoke when asked.
After everyone left, Derek freaked out.
“What was that?” he yelled, pulling off his tie. “You made me look awful!”
I acted innocent. “Me? I’m just doing what you wanted. Tradition, right?”
“That’s not what I meant!” he said.
“Then what *did* you mean?” I asked calmly. “A ‘house uniform’ says a lot about what you expect.”
“I just thought… my mom always—” he started.
“Your mom chose that,” I said. “You tried to choose it for me.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “Okay, the uniform was a bad idea.”
“It’s not just the uniform,” I said. “I agreed to try being a homemaker, Derek, but I’m not your maid. If that’s what you want, hire one.”
I hung the apron in the kitchen. “I’m done with this,” I said. “Think hard about why you married me—because you love me, or because you wanted a new mom.”
He tried to say he loved me, but I went to bed.
—
Monday morning, Derek kissed me goodbye like nothing happened. But when he got home, he looked pale and dropped his keys loudly.
“Bad day?” I asked, sitting on the couch in jeans and a t-shirt, my laptop open.
“I got called into HR,” he said quietly. “Someone took your act seriously. They asked if I treat women at work badly. They’re watching me now because of some fairness check.”
I acted surprised. “Wow, that’s tough.”
His eyes landed on the apron in the kitchen.
“You win,” he said softly. “I thought that lifestyle was nice, but I didn’t see how it could hurt you.”
I closed my laptop. “Then we both win. I get to wear pants, and you keep your job. Oh, and I’m applying for remote work. I started today.”
I thought he’d argue, but he nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “My mom seemed happy like that, so I thought you would be too.”
“I’m not her,” I said gently.
That night, I stuffed the uniform in the closet. Maybe one day we’d laugh about it. Maybe we’d toss it. Either way, I smiled as I walked away.
Victory felt way better than that apron.
—
A week later, I told my friend Lisa about it over coffee. “Was I too mean?” I asked.
She shook her head. “He needed to hear it, Julia. You showed him you’re not just a role—he married *you*.”
I nodded, feeling better. “Yeah. Now I’m back to being me.”
Driving home, I decided to give Derek a fresh start. We’d talk, make new rules, and build a marriage that worked for both of us. But I’d stay alert. You never know when you might need another plan.
