Life is too short for boring stories

Franz F. jun. had married a woman who called herself Mara and had no white apron. Well, it should not necessarily have been a white one. It could have been any other color. What was important was that she had an apron. That this was not the case, had to mean an advice to Franz F. jun. But perhaps he meant that she needed the apron only if they had a common household. So he gave her a bluish-white apron, as he knew it from his mother. But Mara did not seem to be happy about it. He should have taken the colorful. Not only did she not care for him like his mother, no, he even had to put his hand in their household.

“And you really have to vacuum dust and fill the washing machine and even iron it?” Anna F. asked again as her son came to her for dinner.
“Yes, that’s what you do today, says Mara,” said Franz F. jun. close, but Anna F. was as in front of the head. He was to stand his man, out there in the world, but for housework, for that she had not raised him. The poor man had to learn all this and his wife seemed really relentless. She just did not leave him alone. Of course, Anna had already heard that it was all different. It was also inevitable to be confronted with it, but she could not understand it, because the regulation was quite simple and comprehensible. Why did you have to interfere with life and everything, if everything was so clear and well-regulated?

“But you will see, once you have children, everything will be different. Then she will stay at home and take care of everything, “Anna tried to comfort her son. But she should be wrong, because even as the children were there, Mara went on working and the strain on Franz F. jun. was getting bigger and bigger. Work and homework and child labor. His wife expected him to participate in everything.

“It would be so easy if you stayed at home,” he dared to say, then the burden would not be so great for all of us.
“You’re right. But if it’s too much for you, you can stay at home and I’ll go on working, “Mara replied. Franz F. jun. had nothing to reciprocate. Everything seemed so wrong. More and more, he was now again with his mother, and secretly he ran Anna F. into the apartment, because she had to support her son by doing the housework for him.
“No, this is not a job for a man,” she thought to herself. How poor the men were nowadays. His wife did not get up to make him breakfast. He had to do it himself. Not once had Franz F. sen. to do it. No matter when, Anna F. had always stood up. And if there was no time to cook, as Mara said, then there was already something finished. Anna F. would never have tolerated this in her house either. A woman has to take care of her family. It was their real, holy duty. More and more Franz F. jun. participated with his mother. When it had been only sporadic at first, he came almost every day, and at some point he stood with the suitcase in front of her door.
“Do you think I can get my old nursery again?” He asked cautiously.
“What do you want to eat?” Replied Anna F. simply, turned the white apron over and went to the kitchen to cook for her son.


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