Chad
Ididn’t realize how much I had lost until everything changed, bit by bit.
Our evenings had been pretty laid-back and chill, watching shows we both liked, cooking together, on the weekends we’d go flea market or antiquing for all the eclectic things my wife liked to decorate with, then to the driving range.
But now Bitsy had no interest in any of it. Or even talking to me, yapping away about everything and anything under the sun.
Oh, she was very sweet to me. Perfectly polite and gracious.
But she had pulled back from a true partnership to a degree that made me despair.
Now all she said was did I need an extra pillow? Could she please rub my feet? Might I bestow her the honor of clearing my dishes? How else could she serve me?
I had to literally foot-race this woman to the dishwasher after dinner every night.
I hated it.
“Please, sweetheart,” I begged her. “What can I do to prove that I didn’t mean what I said?”
And she only shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t see a problem. You wanted a tradwife, and you are getting one.”
“I freaking hate it!” I howled. “I loathe and despise it! I don’t want a servant! I want you. I want to be making fun of dumb reality shows together and laughing and shit-talking my parents and everything like we used to.”
But there was more to it than one fuck-up. I hadn’t been properly appreciating my wife the way I should have in several months.
I used to always bring her flowers home on Saturday mornings, take an hour off now and again for a quickie during lunch, and find a movie on the way home Friday night.
But I hadn’t done any of that shit while being so obsessed with this promotion.
And I wanted to change that, but Bitsy wouldn’t respond to any of my attempts.
I didn’t even want to do this stupid dinner anymore, but Mr. Van Buren appeared in my office doorway at exactly 5:30 pm.
“My wife is unable to come,” Mr. Van Buren said. “I’ve brought this gentleman here with me.”
My eyes hardened when I saw Zack step out, smirking.
“Why is he here?”
“I’m here to support you,” Zach protested. “Can’t wait to eat Bitsy’s cooking.”
Mr. Van Buren was annoying as fuck as I drove them the short distance to our condo.
“You know, my boy, you’ve got a very good golf game.”
“Thank you,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Some of the loveliest work in the rough I’ve ever seen. The way you get out of those sandtraps is a caution, boy. But your wife—I don’t know.”
“Nothing’s wrong with my wife,” I bit out.
“She’s very traditional,” Zach put in innocently. “You might not think it to look at her but she is.”
“Oh, really?” Mr. Van Buren perked up. “Real traditional? Makes her own bread from scratch?”
“I’ve never seen her do anything but. She’d faint to see a store-bought loaf,” Zach lied cheerfully as we got out of the car.
“What are you doing, idiot?” I hissed, grabbing his arm and yanking at his cufflinks. “That’s not Bitsy.”
“Because heads I win, tails you lose,” he grinned. “If Mr. Van Buren is unhappy, you’ll lose the promotion. And if Bitsy is unhappy, you’ll lose her, and I’ll get a shot. Either way, everything’s coming up Zachary.”
“No way,” I shot back, trying to suppress the pangs of jealousy I got at the idea of Zach getting a chance with my wife.
The first inkling I got that this was going to go badly was that I stepped on a chicken.
I jerked my foot up as soon as I felt something squashy under my wingtip and the chicken gave a loud squawk of indignation and ran off with the tail feathers poofing in the air.
“What the hell?” Mr. Van Buren expostulated, and Bitsy appeared in the front door.
She was dressed in a long gingham dress with a bonnet over her bright blue hair, and she was holding a butcher knife in her hand.
“Welcome to our humble abode,” she said, waving us inside. “I love being a sweet lil housewife and doing everything the traditional way from scratch. There’s only one thing left to prepare and that’s the chicken. Maybe one of you fine gentlemen can select a chicken for me and I’ll wring its neck.”
Mr. Van Buren looked like he was about to puke.
“Bitsy, that will not be necessary,” I squawked. “You don’t have any other chicken?”
“In this house, my husband’s word is LAW,” she said cheerfully. “Plus, we have other meat.”
“I like chicken, I don’t want to eat one I saw wandering up the stairs,” Mr. Van Buren bleated, but she ignored him.
We walked up the steps to find my father-in-law on the front porch with a small fire, turning around what looked like a roasted armadillo.
“Roadkill,” he said. “We don’t waste food ‘round these parts.”
Croaking out some nonsense, I hurried Mr. Van Buren into the house, because my boss looked like he was about to hurl.
Inside, Bitsy had removed all of the unique decorations, like I had so foolishly requested. In their place was great quantities of hay and even more chickens, and I was staring open-mouthed when a sheep butted me right in the ass.
“I say! What the hell is going on?” Mr. Van Buren sputtered, as Bitsy began to churn butter by hand, so hard that little globs of half-churned yellow milk were flying around everywhere.
“I thought you liked traditional wives,” Bitsy said sweetly.
“This is not traditional!”
“What do you think traditional is?” she retorted. “What do you think making everything from scratch is? It’s a lot of damn work!”
“It’s—it’s not about that,” he said pompously.
“It’s not about a bunch of farm animals.
It’s about creating a space where a Man can be a Man, and not worry about piddling little things like chores.
It’s about a space where a Man can relax and always have his slippers and a good pipe laid out at the end of the day. ”
“Who lays out the slippers and pipe?” Bitsy demanded as chickens began to peck at my feet. “Elves?”
“Women like doing chores,” my boss said sternly, and oh god, how did this man manage to run a major company? “They evolved to serve men.”
“That’s bullshit,” I put in, trying to shoo the animals back out onto the the porch. “And you didn’t say exactly how traditional you wanted a wife so this is your fault.”
“Young man,” said Mr. Van Buren, “you are making a mockery of all my cherished principles. It is clear that you are not in fact a good home manager, and therefore you will not be getting the VP job.”