I was stunned when my husband, Jake, handed me a schedule to help me “become a better wife.” But instead of blowing up, I played along.Little did Jake know, I was about to teach him a lesson that would make him rethink his newfound approach to marriage.
I’ve always prided myself on being the level-headed one in our marriage. Jake, bless his heart, could get swept up in things pretty easily, whether it was a new hobby, or some random YouTube video that promised to change his life in three easy steps.
But we were solid until Jake met Steve. Steve was the type of guy who thought being loudly opinionated made him right, the type that talks right over you when you try to correct him.
He was also a perpetually single guy (who could have guessed?), who graciously dispensed relationship advice to all his married colleagues, Jake included. Jake should’ve known better, but my darling husband was positively smitten with Steve’s confidence.
I didn’t think much of it until Jake started making some noxious comments.
“Steve says relationships work best when the wife takes charge of the household,” he’d say. Or “Steve thinks it’s important for women to look good for their husbands, no matter how long they’ve been married.”
I’d roll my eyes and reply with some sarcastic remark, but it was getting under my skin. Jake was changing. He’d arch his eyebrows if I ordered takeout instead of cooking, and sigh when I let the laundry pile up because, God forbid, I had my own full-time job.
And then it happened. One night, he came home with The List.
He sat me down at the kitchen table, unfolded a piece of paper, and slid it across to me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice dripping with a condescending tone I hadn’t heard from him before. “You’re a great wife, Lisa. But there’s room for improvement.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Oh really?”
He nodded, oblivious to the danger zone he was entering. “Yeah. Steve helped me realize that our marriage could be even better if you, you know, stepped up a bit.”
I stared at the paper in front of me. It was a schedule… and he’d written “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife” at the top in bold.
This guy had actually sat down and mapped out my entire week based on what Steve — a single guy with zero relationship experience — thought I should do to “improve” myself as a wife.
I was supposed to wake up at 5 a.m. every day to make Jake a gourmet breakfast. Then I’d hit the gym for an hour to “stay in shape.”
After that? A delightful lineup of chores: cleaning, laundry, ironing. And that was all before I left for work. I was supposed to cook a meal from scratch every evening and make fancy snacks for Jake and his friends when they came over to hang out at our place.
The whole thing was sexist and insulting on so many levels I didn’t even know where to start. I ended up staring at him, wondering if my husband had lost his mind.
“This will be great for you, and us,” he continued, oblivious.
“Steve says it’s important to maintain structure, and I think you could benefit from —”
“I could benefit from what?” I interrupted, my voice dangerously calm. Jake blinked, caught off guard by the interruption, but he recovered quickly.
“Well, you know, from having some guidance and a schedule.”
I wanted to throw that paper in his face and ask him if he’d developed a death wish. Instead, I did something that surprised even me: I smiled.
“You’re right, Jake,” I said sweetly. “I’m so lucky that you made me this schedule. I’ll start tomorrow.”
The relief on his face was instant. I almost felt sorry for him as I got up and stuck the list on the fridge. Almost. He had no idea what was coming.
The next day, I couldn’t help but smirk as I studied the ridiculous schedule again. If Jake thought he could hand me a list of “improvements,” then he was about to find out just how much structure our life could really handle.
I pulled out my laptop, opened up a fresh document, and titled it, “Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever.” He wanted a perfect wife? Fine. But there was a cost to perfection.
I began by listing all the things he had suggested for me, starting with the gym membership he was so keen on. It was laughable, really.
“$1,200 for a personal trainer.” I typed, barely containing my giggle.
Next came the food. If Jake wanted to eat like a king, that wasn’t happening on our current grocery budget. Organic, non-GMO, free-range everything? That stuff didn’t come cheap.
“$700 per month for groceries,” I wrote. He’d probably need to chip in for a cooking class too. Those were pricey, but hey, perfection wasn’t free.
I leaned back in my chair, laughing to myself as I imagined Jake’s face when he saw this. But I wasn’t done. Oh no, the pièce de résistance was still to come.
See, there was no way I could juggle all these expectations while holding down my job. If Jake wanted me to dedicate myself full-time to his absurd routine, then he’d have to compensate for the loss of my income.
I pulled up a calculator, estimating the value of my salary. Then, I added it to the list, complete with a little note: “$75,000 per year to replace Lisa’s salary since she will now be your full-time personal assistant, maid, and chef.”
My stomach hurt from laughing at this point.
And just for good measure, I threw in a suggestion about him needing to expand the house. After all, if he was going to have his friends over regularly, they’d need a dedicated space that wouldn’t intrude on my newly organized, impossibly structured life.
“$50,000 to build a separate ‘man cave’ so Jake and his friends don’t disrupt Lisa’s schedule.”
By the time I was done, the list was a masterpiece. A financial and logistical nightmare, sure, but a masterpiece nonetheless. It wasn’t just a counterattack — it was a wake-up call.
I printed it out, set it neatly on the kitchen counter, and waited for Jake to come home. When he finally walked through the door that evening, he was in a good mood.
“Hey, babe,” he called out, dropping his keys on the counter. He spotted the paper almost immediately. “What’s this?”
I kept my face neutral, fighting the urge to laugh as I watched him pick it up. “Oh, it’s just a little list I put together for you,” I said sweetly, “to help you become the best husband ever.”
Jake chuckled, thinking I was playing along with his little game. But as he scanned the first few lines, the grin started to fade. I could see the wheels turning in his head, the slow realization that this wasn’t the lighthearted joke he thought it was.
“Wait… what is all this?” He squinted at the numbers, his eyes widening as he saw the total costs. “$1,200 for a personal trainer? $700 a month for groceries? What the hell, Lisa?”
I leaned against the kitchen island, crossing my arms.
“Well, you want me to wake up at 5 a.m., hit the gym, make gourmet breakfasts, clean the house, cook dinner, and host your friends. I figured we should budget for all of that, don’t you think?”
His face turned pale as he flipped through the pages. “$75,000 a year? You’re quitting your job?!”
I shrugged. “How else am I supposed to follow your plan? I can’t work and be the perfect wife, right?”
He stared at the paper, dumbfounded.
The numbers, the absurdity of his own demands, it all hit him at once. His smugness evaporated, replaced by a dawning realization that he had seriously, seriously messed up.
“I… I didn’t mean…” Jake stammered, looking at me with wide eyes. “Lisa, I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I just thought —”
As I was about to drive my wife in labor to the hospital, I received a call saying my mother was passing away
Just as my wife’s water broke, I got a call from my mother’s nurse, and she told me my mom was dying. I was torn and forced to make a difficult decision.
The day Debra found out she was pregnant was one of those days that I will cherish for the rest of my life. We had cried together, unable to believe that we were going to have a baby home soon, and I promised Debra I’d be an amazing dad.
Debra and I had waited to become parents for a long time. We were one of those miracle couples who conceived after going through tons of failed fertility treatments and doctors telling us there was no chance.
“We’ll be the best parents to him, darling,” I told Debra one night. “I can’t wait to hold our baby in my arms.”
“I know, honey,” she’d said, smiling. I gently kissed her baby bump and promised Debra I’d always be by her side.
Debra had always been very anxious about the pregnancy due to the complications, and I had told her I would be there for her, so there was no need to worry.
Little did I know fate would plunge me into a situation where I’d have to choose between her and my mom while was in labor…
I still get chills when I recall that day. It started as a beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly, and nothing seemed wrong with the outside world. I was preparing breakfast in the kitchen because Debra wasn’t feeling well that morning.
I quickly assembled a breakfast plate for her, and I went to call her for breakfast. As I entered our bedroom, I saw she was leaning against the wall with one hand, clutching her baby bump and breathing heavily.
“Honey, are you okay?” I dashed to her, worried. “Should I call the doctor?”
“Gordon…my water…it…it broke,” she whispered heavily, and that’s when I noticed the floor beneath her. It was wet. “Take me to the hospital, Gordon…Please!” she cried.
“Jesus!” I panicked. “I’ll get the car started. Just hang on a sec, honey.”
I ran to our car, grabbing the keys from the bowl on the living room shelf. I opened the car door, then rushed back inside to help Debra.
“Don’t worry, honey. We’ll reach the hospital in no time. Okay, we’ve got this.” I was comforting her as her labor pains began. I was terrified and nervous. I was praying everything would be fine.
After we made it to the car and Debra got inside, I locked her door and rushed to take my seat. Then my phone rang. It was my mom’s nurse, Marla, calling me. My mother had been diagnosed with a progressive cardiac condition, and due to her illness, she was confined to bed rest.
Worried, I answered the phone, and Marla’s voice on the other end of the line broke me from inside.
“Gordon,” she said in a weak voice. “Your mom… She had a heart attack, so I took her to the hospital. The doctors say there is little hope she’ll make it… Your mother is dying. I think you should be here as soon as you can.”
“Jesus, Jesus!” I exhaled a sigh. Why was everything happening at the same time? I was ripped to shreds and didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, there was Debra, who was in labor, and on the other, there was my mother.
I went inside the car, tears in my eyes, and told Debra everything. I couldn’t hide it from her, anyway. She saw my face and asked me what was wrong. And I blurted everything out.
“Mom is dying, honey. She had a heart attack, and Marla’s asking me to be there as soon as possible. I am so nervous. I – I don’t know what to do….”
“Honey,” Debra said. “Call a taxi. I’ll go by myself…”
“What?” I was taken aback. “No, we can’t do that!”. She was drenched in sweat and moaning in pain. “Look at you. It’s just not….”
“We don’t have time, honey…Ahh…call the taxi now, Gordon. Your mom needs you. You are a son first, then a husband. I will manage. Your mom…she…” Her pain was becoming worse.
“I’m calling the taxi. Oh, God!”
Thankfully, I got a taxi soon, and I instructed the driver to take Debra to the hospital safely. My hands shook as I drove to my mother’s hospital, and my tears wouldn’t stop. My heart was racing, wondering about Debra’s condition and if our baby would be alright.
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