Stop Being a Housewife

On my thirty-fifth birthday, I finally put on the white dress I'd bought ages ago but never worn. I got a cake and eagerly waited for my husband and son to celebrate with me. My husband glanced at it dismissively and said, "You're too old for this, celebrating birthdays like other people. Don’t embarrass yourself." My son, wearing the new shoes I bought for him, mocked, "Mom, that dress looks terrible on you. It's not as nice as Auntie Daisy’s." Yet, when I turned around, they were celebrating Daisy Morgan's birthday on her Instagram.

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