I was done trying to please her. It was time to find out whether she could meet her own standards.
And what happened next was as hilarious as it was humiliating.
For Linda, anyway.
Something had been bothering me.
***
Now, back to that Friday.
Linda stared at the invitation inside her envelope.
“The Perfect Housewife Challenge?” she read.
Marcus unfolded his. “Why does mine say assistant?”
“Because you’ll be assisting your mother.”
I was done trying to please her.
I produced two aprons.
Linda’s read ‘QUEEN OF THE KITCHEN.’
Marcus’s read ‘MOMMY’S LITTLE HELPER.’
He snorted. “Seriously?”
“Very seriously.”
The Perfect Housewife Challenge.
Linda pushed her chair backward. “This is humiliating!”
“Why? You’ve spent three years teaching me household management. I thought your club would appreciate a demonstration.”
“What demonstration?”
“A live workshop for your club members. Two hours, ordinary household tasks, everything provided.”
‘QUEEN OF THE KITCHEN.’
Linda raised an eyebrow. “And why would I agree to that?”
“Because you’ve spent three years telling me how terrible I am at housekeeping. I’d love to see how it’s supposed to be done.”
“That’s what my workshops are for, Sarah.”
“Of course. But watching you do it yourself would be much more convincing.”
Linda frowned. “Are you suggesting I don’t know how to run a household?”
A live workshop.
“I’m just saying I’ve never actually seen you do it.”
“Excuse me? I raised two children and managed this house for thirty years!”
“With help,” I said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your housekeeper, your chef, your laundry service…”
How it’s supposed to be done.
“Having staff doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to cook or clean!”
“Then prove it. One day, no staff. We’ll livestream it for your club members.”
“Mom, you don’t have to…”
“Of course I don’t have to!” Linda snapped. “But apparently, my daughter-in-law needs another lesson.”
For a moment, I almost reconsidered. What if she really was as good as she claimed?
Then again, there was only one way to find out.
I’ve never actually seen you do it.
“So you’ll do it?”
“Gladly.”
“And Marcus can help.”
He blinked. “Wait, what?”
“You’ve always said your mother knows best,” I reminded him.
There was only one way to find out.
Linda smiled. “He can follow my instructions. That’s how you learn.”
“Perfect. Everything happens live. No professional help.”
“Fine,” Linda said, straightening her blouse. “Prepare to be embarrassed, Sarah.”
I collected the envelopes.
Linda had no idea what she’d just agreed to.
Marcus can help.
***
The following Saturday, Linda arrived wearing pearls.
“Are those practical?” I asked.
“Elegance is always practical.”
Marcus arrived behind her carrying coffee. “Ready for Mom to prove you wrong?”
“Absolutely. Ready to discover where our oven lives?”
Linda had no idea what she’d just agreed to.
“Very funny.”
“I announced our workshop to the club members,” Linda said..
“As a challenge?”
“A lesson in traditional family values.”
“Wonderful. Ready for your audience?”
Ready for Mom to prove you wrong?
“Of course.”
I started the livestream.
Dozens joined.
Linda waved. “Hello, ladies! Today we’ll demonstrate that maintaining a beautiful home isn’t complicated.”
“Perfect,” I said. “Let’s begin with your famous lasagna.”
A lesson in traditional family values.
Her smile stiffened. “My lasagna?”
“The one you posted last month. Everyone loved the photograph.”
“Of course.”
I gestured toward the ingredients. “Everything’s ready.”
Linda picked up a packet of flour. “First, we prepare the sauce.”
Let’s begin with your famous lasagna.
“Wonderful.”
She poured milk into a cold saucepan.
I watched silently.
Marcus leaned closer. “Shouldn’t something be heating?”
“Don’t interrupt your mother,” I said.
We prepare the sauce.
Linda grabbed butter. “How much flour did you provide?”
“As much as you requested.”
“Well, what’s the correct amount?”
“That’s what we’re learning.”
She reached for her phone. “Just checking something.”
Don’t interrupt your mother.
“Recipes aren’t allowed during the challenge.”
“I know my own recipe!”
The comment section exploded.
Patricia, one of the club’s organizers: Linda, didn’t you call this your signature dish?
Linda stirred furiously. “Obviously, I haven’t made it recently.”
Marcus opened the oven. “Mom, what temperature?”
Just checking something.
“Normal temperature.”
“What’s normal?”
“Hot, Marcus!”
I covered my mouth.
Someone commented: “MOMMY’S LITTLE HELPER,” but Mommy might need a new helper.
Another wrote: Even the sauce is trying to escape this disaster.
I haven’t made it recently.
The mixture developed lumps large enough to qualify as furniture.
Linda glared at me. “Your ingredients are defective.”
“Would you like to explain that to the flour?”
“Mom, the sauce is burning!”
“Lower the heat!”
Even the sauce is trying to escape.
“Which way?”
“Marcus, the other way!”
Smoke rose from the pan.
