My Husband Compared Me to His Mum and I Didn’t Measure Up, So I Suggested He Go Back and Live With H…

My husband compared me to his mother, unfavourably of course. I suggested he might as well go and live back at home.

Why are these burgers so dry? Did you soak the breadcrumbs in milk, or did you just splash water into the mince again? Andrew prodded the golden-brown crust on his plate with a look of deep suspicion, as if he was expecting an ambush inside, not beef.

Mary froze, tea towel in hand. That all-too-familiar tightness twisted in her stomach, ready to snap. She was stood at the sink, scrubbing the frying pan, hoping in vain for a peaceful supper tonight. That hope died before it even began.

Its beef, Andrew. Good, lean beef, picked up from the market after work. I put in onion, herbs, egg. Theyre not dry, theyre just meaty, she replied, working hard to keep her tone level, not turning round.

Exactly, Andrew wagged his finger as he chewed. Lean. My mum always adds a bit of pork fat, and a proper hunk of stale white bread soaked in full cream. Thats why her burgers melt in your mouthlight and juicy. But theseyou know, honestly, Mary, these are tough as old boots. Im sorry, but after fifteen years of marriage, you might have learned to make basic things properly.

Mary set down the sponge, switched off the tap, and dried her hands slowly. Fifteen years. Really. For fifteen years, shed been hearing variations of the same tune: Well, my mum, Mum would have done it differently, My mum never. At first, just hints and tips. Then advice. Then, outright comparisonsalways with Mary coming up short. Zero to ten, every time.

She turned to him. Andrew sat at the table, the very picture of a suffering food critic condemned to the slops. His shirt was ironedby Mary. The cloth was spotlessMary had washed it. The flat was shiningshe had cleaned it. None of that mattered, though, because the burger wasnt like mums.

Look, Mary said quietly. If you dont like it, dont eat it. Theres some ready-made pies in the fridge.

Oh, here we go again, Andrew rolled his eyes, putting his fork down with a clatter. Im only trying to help you. I want you to improve as a homemaker. Criticism is how we get better. If I just bite my tongue, youd think this is the height of home cooking. Mum always says, Truth is bitter but healing.

Your mother, Gloria, Mary said, stepping closer, hasnt worked for thirty years. She can spend the whole day soaking bread in cream, mincing three kinds of meat and polishing the floors. I work as a head accountant. Today was the quarterly report; I got home at half seven, and by eight you had a hot meal. Maybe, for once, you could appreciate that, rather than searching your burger for missing pork fat?

Oh, it starts! Andrew waved dismissively. Everyone works, Mary. Mum worked when I was little. She still managed: a starter, a main, a fruit pie for pudding, starched shirtsyou name it. Thats because shes got golden hands and loved her family. You, on the other hand, just tick boxes. Theres no warmth, no spark in this house.

The words landed in the kitchen like paving stones. No feminine spark. Box ticking. Mary stared at the man shed lived with all these years, and suddenly sawnot a husband, but a grumpy little boy whod never outgrown his mums short trousers, yet expected to be waited on by another woman like a prince.

Her patience, dripped away by years of scattered socks, wrong roast dinners, dust found by white handkerchief on top of wardrobesyes, he actually did that theatrical gesturehad finally run out.

So, Im a lousy housewife? she asked, her voice ice-calm, as if the storm had already spent itself.

Well, not bad, Andrew dialled it down a notch, seeing her expression, lets just say theres room for improvement. When mum was your age

Enough, Mary lifted her hand, cutting him off. No more about your mum. I get it. I dont measure up. I cant give you the five-star comfort you were used to as a child. And I probably never will. Ive neither the energy, norlets be honestthe interest.

So, what are you suggesting? Andrew sneered. Divorce? Over burgers? Dont be ridiculous.

No, not divorce. Not yet. Im suggesting an experiment. Since Gloria is the gold standard for home comforts, why should you suffer here, with me? Its not fair to youto a man with such delicate tastebuds and high standards.

What are you getting at? He was getting nervous now.

Im saying, Andrew, perhaps you should go and live where youre truly appreciated, understood, and above allproperly fed. At your mums.

Andrew laugheda big, showy, roaring laugh.

Oh, get off! Trying to scare me now? Are you kicking me out of my own flat?

This flat, Mary reminded him coolly, was bought after our wedding. The mortgage was paid off with my bonuses, and my parents gave us the deposit. So Im not kicking you outlets call it a holiday. A restful retreat at Hotel Mum. You say yourself how wonderful it is. Off you go. Have a month away from my dry burgers and unironed bedsheets. Rest up. Ill reflect on my performance. Maybe Ill even try soaking bread in cream, who knows?

Youre serious? The smile slid off his face.

Absolutely. Im tired, Andrew. Tired to death of competing with the ghost of your mother in this house. I want to come home and not be scared in case the forks are at the wrong angle. Pack your bags.

Andrew stood, sending his chair scraping.

Fine! Brilliant! You think Ill miss you? Ill be living the life of Riley, youll see! Mum will be thrilledshes always said you dont look after me properly. Soon enough, youll be miserable without me. Wholl change a lightbulb or fix the tap?

Ill get a proper tradesman in, Mary shrugged. They dont nag, at least.

Andrew packed with dramatic flairflinging shirts, slamming drawers, muttering about ingratitude and womens feeble minds. Mary sat in the lounge with a book, not reading a word, but listening to the commotion. She was frightened, yes, but somewhere deeper, she felt a curious, long-lost sense of relief.

Im off! Andrew declared in the hall, suitcases in hand. And dont think Ill come running at your first call. When you realise what youve lost, youll have to beg for forgiveness.

Leave your keys on the table, Mary said, not getting up from the armchair.

The front door banged. Silence fell. But not the heavy, oppressive silence shed feared. Instead, it was warm and comforting. Mary walked into the kitchen, eyed Andrews half-eaten burger on his plate, binned it, and fetched a bottle of white wine from the fridge. She poured herself a glass and, for the first time in years, ate whatever she fancied for supperjust a bit of cheese with honey, without a second thought about whether thats a proper meal for a bloke.

The first week passed in a blissful haze. No one woke her up at eight on Saturday demanding breakfast. No one left socks under the sofa. No one changed her dramas to the news or the football. She could have a bath for as long as she liked with no one banging on the door: Have you fallen asleep in there? I need the loo!

But Andrews paradise came with its own surprises.

Gloria welcomed her son with open arms.

Andy! My boy! Youre back at last! Did that little madam boot you out, eh? I knew it! Told you she wasnt right for you! Dont worry, darling, your mumll spoil you rotten.

For the first two days, Andrew was indeed pampered. Pancakes for breakfast (thin and lacy), a hearty stew and those legendary porky burgers for lunch, stuffed cabbage for tea. Gloria flitted around, topping up his plate, nodding at all his grumbles about Mary.

But day three brought reality.

Andrew, used to certain freedoms from years of marriage, decided to have a lie-in on Saturday. At nine, his bedroom door (his old one, unchanged since secondary school) flew open.

Up you get, Andy! Breakfasts getting cold! Who sleeps so late? Youll waste your whole life! Ive made cottage cheese fritters, you need to eat them hot. Besides, we need to clear out the loft. I need a mans hand up there.

Andrew dragged himself out of bed. The fritters were nice, granted. But after breakfast came the entertainment.

Right, son, heres this stack of old magazinessort them: some for the charity shop, some for the tip. Afterwards, I need potatoes from the shopfive kilos, cant carry it myself.

But, mummy back…

Everyones back hurts! Move it or lose it, love. Look at the size of that bellythis is all that wife of yours, feeding you ready meals. Dont worry, Ill get you fit again.

In the evening, Andrew fancied putting on an action film.

Andy, turn that rubbish down, Ive got a headache! mum yelled from the kitchen. Whats this nonsense youre watching? Blood and killing. Stick Strictly on, or some classical concert.

Mum, I fancy a film! Andrew protested.

Youll be in charge in your own house, but here, Im boss! Gloria cut him down. Show your mother a bit of respect. I didnt stay up nights for you to treat me like this.

Grinding his teeth, Andrew switched off the telly, went to his room, and pulled out his mobile. He wanted to phone Marysee how she wasbut pride stopped him. Shes probably in bits, missing me like mad, he told himself.

By the second week, he realised things were even tighter. Mum didnt just cook well, she ran a tight ship.

Where are you going? she quizzed as he reached for his coat Tuesday night.

Out for a pint with the lads.

No pub for you! Work tomorrow. Alcohols bad for you. Be back by tenIll bolt the door at ten. Im not getting up in the middle of the night to let you in.

Mum, Im forty-two! he groaned. Im a grown man!

Youll always be my little boy. While you live under my roof, youll follow my rules. I wont have you drinking and carrying on like that hussy of a wife of yours let you.

So Andrew stayed home, listening to his mum nattering to her friend on the phone about his feckless marriage and useless wife.

Yes, Linda, hes back. Thin, pale, nervous. She did him in! Never ironed, never cooks properly. Let him go to seed. Not to worry, Ill whip him into shape

Andrew started to feel uneasy. Mary, he realised, never stopped him seeing mates. Shed just say, Have fun, just dont get too drunk. She never woke him on weekends, unless it was urgent. She cooked what he asked formaybe not with mysterious mums tricks, but still, the food was made with care, not lectures.

The food itself became a problem, actually. Glorias cooking was delicious but heavy. Everything fried in fat, slathered with mayonnaise, drenched in oil. Andrews insides, used to Marys (baked, stewed, lots of veg), started to rebel. Indigestion. Bloating.

Mum, could you just boil the chicken for once? No fry-up? he asked tentatively.

You feeling ill? Gloria looked alarmed. Boiled chickens for hospitals. You need proper calories! Eat your stewI used extra lard, for strength.

By the third week, Andrew was cracking up. Living with the ideal was insufferable. The ideal demanded total obedience, reporting on every move, and unending gratitude.

Meanwhile, Mary bloomed. She started yogathe one thing she never had time for. Met friends at the tea shop. Rearranged the bedroom, getting rid of the ugly old chair Andrew insisted on (that only ever gathered dust). She learnt that being alone isnt frighteningits peaceful.

On Friday evening, the doorbell rang. Expecting the delivery man with a new bookshelf, Mary opened up right away.

Andrew stood on the threshold, battered, with suitcases in tow, dark bags under his eyes, and a limp bunch of supermarket chrysanthemums clutched in hand.

Hi, he muttered, not sure whether he was allowed in.

Mary leaned against the door frame, arms crossed.

Hello. Forget something?

Mary Can we talk?

I thought we already had. Youve not had the full month yet. Hows your retreat? Feeling stronger? Mum cooking well?

Andrews jaw shifted uncomfortably.

Oh, come on, Mary. Stop taking the mick. I want to come home.

This isnt your home, Andrew. Yours is where perfection livesjuicy burgers, starched sheets. Im just mediocre, arent I? Why come back to all this amateur cookery?

Andrew set the bags down heavily and sighed.

Im sorry. I was a fool. I never valued what we had.

No, you didnt, agreed Mary. Whats changed? Mum chuck you out?

No. I ran away. Mary, its impossible! She controls everythingI cant watch what I want, I cant eat anything but fat, my stomachs in knots! She even tells me off for how I brush my teeth! Now I see how much you put up with, all those years of my comparisons. You cook fine. Brilliant, even! Ive been craving just your plain stew all week.

Mary looked at him and saw he wasnt lying. He looked truly miserable. Mothers love had rolled him flat.

So my burgers are edible now? she teased.

The best! Let me back in, Mary. Honestly, never again will I mention my mum. I finally get the difference between visiting and living. I appreciate what you do. I just took it all for granted.

He stepped forward, aiming for a hug, but Mary held up her hand.

Wait. Apologies are good. Realising things, even better. But were not just going straight back to old habits. I dont want you to revert in a month and go hunting for dust under the sofa again.

I wont! I promise!

Words are wind. Heres the deal. You come backbut youre on probation. Three months. No more comparisons. You dont like what I cook? Then you get up and cook yourself. Quietly. Dont like the ironing? Do it yourself. Im not your servant or your mother. Im your partner. We both work, we both get tired. So we share the houseworkor at least, respect each others effort.

Andrew nodded frantically.

Agreed! Ill cook on weekends. Ill remember how. Ill make a curry. Whatever you fancy. Just let me in.

And another thing, Mary added. Once a week, you call your mum and tell her how wonderful your wife is. So she knows this isnt a prison camp, but a family.

He grimaced.

Thatll be tough. Shes convinced shes saving me from misery.

Thats your problem, Andrew. You let her think badly of me. Your job now to restore that reputation.

Andrew looked at Mary with a newfound respect shed never noticed in him before. Had she changed, or had he just never seen the tough core beneath her calm?

Alright. Ill do it all. Mary, I do love you. And only now do I see how lucky I am.

She stepped aside at last.

Come in. But rememberIm not unpacking your bags. And suppers not ready. If youre hungry, theres eggs and tomatoes in the fridge. Fry yourself an omelette.

Easy! Andrew grabbed his cases and bounded into the flat. With tomatoes! Brilliant! My favourite!

That night, they sat in the kitchen. Andrew wolfed down the omelette (a bit too much salt, but he didnt say), telling tales of mums regimealready able to laugh at himself.

She actually made me wear a hat to take the bins outin April! Said, Youll catch meningitis!

Mary smiled. She could see her husband had finally grown up a bit. Without realising it, Gloria had salvaged their marriageby offering her son a crash course in the perfect life, enough to send him running in the opposite direction.

That weekend, Andrew did the vacuuming. In silence. No comments about how Mum does it twice over. When Mary made soup for lunch, he had two bowls and said, Lovely. Thank you, love.

A month later, Gloria rang Mary.

So, youve had your fun, you little vixen? she sneered down the line. My daft lad come crawling back, has he?

I took him back, Gloria, Mary replied calmly. He says hello, by the way. Says he misses you, but hes better off at home. Its a democracy here, not a dictatorship.

Gloria slammed down the phone. But Mary knew shed call again; after all, Andrew was her son. But now, a new solid wallof mutual respect and sharp lessonsstood between their family and Glorias interference.

Life soon found its rhythm again. Andrew kept his word: no more comparisons. Sometimes hed start with his old Well, actually only to catch Marys eye and change the subject. He came to truly value the comfort Mary createdunderstanding it came from hard work, not magic. And Mary realised that sometimes, to keep a marriage strong, you must not smooth everything overyou have to set boundaries and let reality do the teaching. Because comparison, in the end, teaches us what matters mostand perfection isnt always where we remember it.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading my story. If it struck a chord, consider giving it a like and sticking around for more talesthere are plenty more to come.