I couldn’t believe my eyes when my husband, Jake, handed me a schedule titled “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife.” My jaw nearly hit the floor. But instead of exploding, I decided to play along. Little did Jake know, I was about to teach him a lesson he’d never forget.
I’ve always been the calm, level-headed one in our marriage. Jake, on the other hand, tends to get swept up in whatever new idea or trend catches his attention. Whether it’s a new hobby, a fitness craze, or some life hack he saw on YouTube, Jake dives in headfirst. Most of the time, it’s harmless. But this time, he crossed a line.
It all started when Jake met Steve, a loud, opinionated coworker who loved giving unsolicited advice—especially about relationships. Steve was single, had never been married, and yet he acted like he was some kind of relationship guru. Jake, for some reason, was completely taken in by Steve’s confidence.
At first, I didn’t think much of it. But then Jake started coming home with these little comments that made my blood boil.
“Steve says relationships work best when the wife takes charge of the household,” Jake said one evening, as if he was dropping some profound wisdom.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, really? And what does Steve know about running a household?”
Jake shrugged. “He’s just saying it’s important for women to keep things organized.”
Another time, he casually mentioned, “Steve thinks it’s important for women to look good for their husbands, no matter how long they’ve been married.”
I shot him a look. “Are you saying I don’t look good?”
“No, no!” Jake backtracked quickly. “I’m just saying… Steve has a point.”
I brushed it off, but the comments kept coming. Jake started nitpicking little things—like if I ordered takeout instead of cooking or if the laundry piled up. Never mind that I had a full-time job and was just as busy as he was. It was like he expected me to be some kind of superwoman.
Then, one night, Jake came home with The List. He sat me down at the kitchen table, unfolded a piece of paper, and slid it across to me with a smug smile.
“I’ve been thinking,” he began, his tone dripping with condescension. “You’re a great wife, Lisa. But there’s room for improvement.”
I stared at him, my eyebrows shooting up. “Oh, really? And what exactly needs improving?”
He nodded, completely oblivious to the danger zone he was stepping into. “Yeah. Steve helped me realize that our marriage could be even better if you, you know, stepped up a bit.”
I looked down at the paper. It was a detailed schedule titled “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife.” My jaw tightened as I read through it. Jake had mapped out my entire week based on Steve’s ridiculous advice.
According to the schedule, 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, I’d clean the house, do the laundry, and iron his clothes—all before heading to work. In the evenings, I was expected to cook a meal from scratch and prepare fancy snacks for Jake and his friends when they came over.
I couldn’t believe what I was reading. The whole thing was sexist, insulting, and completely out of touch with reality. I looked up at Jake, wondering if he’d lost his mind.
“This will be great for you—and for us,” Jake continued, still 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. “Well, you know, from having some guidance and a schedule.”
I wanted to throw the paper in his face and ask him if he’d developed a death wish. But 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. He had no idea what was coming.
The next day, I sat down with my laptop and started typing. 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 titled my document “Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever.” If he wanted a perfect wife, fine. But there was a cost to perfection.
I started by listing all the things he had suggested for me. First up: the gym membership he was so keen on. I typed, “$1,200 for a personal trainer,” and chuckled to myself.
Next came the food. If Jake wanted gourmet meals, that wasn’t happening on our current grocery budget. Organic, non-GMO, free-range everything? That stuff didn’t come cheap. I wrote, “$700 per month for groceries.” And since I wasn’t a professional chef, I added, “$500 for cooking classes.”
I leaned back in my chair, laughing 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.
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, estimated the value of my salary, and added it to the list: “$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 expanding 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. I added, “$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. “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 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—”
“You thought what? That I could ‘improve’ myself like some project?” My voice was calm, but the hurt behind it was real. “Jake, marriage isn’t about lists or routines. It’s about respect. And if you ever try to ‘fix’ me like this again, you’ll be paying a hell of a lot more than what’s on that paper.”
Silence hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Jake’s face softened, his shoulders slumping as he let out a deep sigh.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t realize how ridiculous it was. Steve made it sound sensible, but now I see it’s… it’s toxic. Oh God, I’ve been such a fool.”
I nodded, watching him carefully. “Yes, you have. Honestly, have you looked at Steve’s life? What makes you think he has the life experience to give you advice about marriage? Or anything else?”
The look on his face as my words hit home was priceless. “You’re right. And he could never afford to live like this.” He slapped the list with the back of his hand. “He… he has no idea about the costs involved, or how demeaning this is. Oh, Lisa, I got carried away again, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but we’ll recover. Now, let’s tear that paper up and go back to being equals.”
He smiled weakly, the tension breaking just a little. “Yeah… let’s do that.”
We ripped up the list together, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like we were back on the same team. Maybe this was what we needed—a reminder that marriage isn’t about one person being “better” than the other. It’s about being better together.
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