>>12091570Every Sunday my mother would make bacon and pancakes for me and my father. I'd wake up and the smell would be wafting through the apartment. It was one of the few times we felt like a family. But, maybe once a year, my father would walk in on one of those Sunday mornings with a scowl on his face, throw the pancakes onto the floor and yell "WHAT DO I LOOK LIKE, SOME KIND OF PANCAKE EATER?!" and storm out of the house. He would come back after being out all day, and my mother would be the one to apologize to him.
When I was about 12, we had one of these incidents. He pulled me aside before bed and asked if I understood why he did what he did. I said that I did not, and he said "Women love to be dominated and made to serve. It's their natural place. They occasionally need a reminder, so when things get a little too easy, you gotta throw a reminder in there. Never forget that and you'll always have her under your thumb."
