It was a name tag I’d embroidered onto the apron: “DEREK’S FULL-TIME HOUSEWIFE.”
I also started calling Derek “sir.”
“Good morning, sir,” I greeted as he came downstairs. “Your breakfast is prepared. Would you like me to pour your coffee, or would you prefer to do it yourself, sir?”
Derek laughed nervously.
“The uniform is enough, honey. You don’t need to call me ‘sir.’”
I tilted my head, expression innocent. “Should I wait by the door at 6 p.m.
sharp with your slippers, sir?”
He frowned. “What? No.”
Later that evening, I knocked softly on his office door.
“Permission to use the bathroom during my shift, sir?”
Derek’s grin began to falter. “Okay, you don’t have to be sarcastic.”
“Sarcastic? I thought this was tradition.” I gestured at my outfit, complete with the frilly apron and now a pair of white gloves I’d found at a thrift store.
That weekend, Derek’s boss and a few coworkers came over for dinner.
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