I couldn’t believe my eyes when Jake, my husband, handed me a schedule titled “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife.” At first, I was stunned. I wanted to yell, but instead, I just smiled and played along. Little did Jake know, I had a plan—one that would teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget, and make him rethink this whole “better wife” idea.
I’ve always thought of myself as the calm, steady one in our marriage. Jake? Well, bless his heart, he tends to get excited about random things. One week, it could be a new hobby; the next, some crazy YouTube video promising to “change his life in three easy steps.” But until now, none of it shook us.
Then Jake met Steve.
Steve was that guy—the loud, opinionated type who always thinks he’s right. The kind of man who talks over people and doesn’t listen when someone tries to correct him. He was also, unsurprisingly, perpetually single. Yet he had no problem handing out relationship advice to all his married coworkers—including Jake.
Jake, ever the sucker for confidence, was totally hooked. I should have known better, but I didn’t think much of it at first.
Then came the comments.
“Steve says relationships work best when the wife takes charge of the household,” Jake told me one day, as if this was some secret wisdom.
Or, “Steve thinks it’s important for women to look good for their husbands, no matter how long they’ve been married.”
I rolled my eyes, snapping back with sarcastic remarks, but deep down it bugged me. Jake was changing. He’d arch his eyebrows when I ordered takeout instead of cooking, and sigh dramatically if I let the laundry pile up—even though I worked full-time.
And then came The List.
One evening, Jake sat me down at the kitchen table, pulled out a sheet of paper, and slid it across to me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, sounding oddly serious. His tone was condescending—something I’d never heard from him before. “You’re a great wife, Lisa. But… there’s room for improvement.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh really?”
He nodded, completely unaware of the trap he was walking into. “Yeah. Steve helped me realize our marriage could be even better if you, you know, stepped up a bit.”
I stared at the paper. At the top, in bold letters, it read: “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife.”
This man had actually sat down and created a schedule for me—based on advice from a single guy with zero real relationship experience.
According to Jake, I was supposed to:
- Wake up at 5 a.m. every day to make him a gourmet breakfast.
- Hit the gym for an hour to “stay in shape.”
- Then, a long list of chores: cleaning, laundry, ironing—all before heading to work.
- Cook dinner from scratch every night.
- And even prepare fancy snacks when Jake’s friends came over to hang out.
The whole thing was so sexist and insulting, I almost laughed out loud. Or maybe I should’ve cried. I just stared at him, wondering if he’d lost his mind.
“This will be great for you—and for us,” Jake said, oblivious to how ridiculous he sounded.
“Steve says structure is important,” he added, “and I think you could benefit from—”
“Benefit from what?” I interrupted, my voice calm but cold.
Jake blinked, surprised at my tone, but quickly recovered.
“Well, you know, from having some guidance. A schedule.”
I wanted to throw that paper in his face. Instead, I smiled.
“Okay, Jake,” I said sweetly. “I’m so lucky you made me this schedule. I’ll start tomorrow.”
The relief on his face was instant. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
The next day, I couldn’t help but grin as I looked over his ridiculous list again. If Jake thought handing me a schedule meant I’d just follow it without question, he was in for a big surprise.
I grabbed my laptop and opened a new document. The title? “Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever.”
He wanted a perfect wife? Fine. But perfection has its price.
I started listing everything Jake had suggested for me, starting with the gym. He’d insisted on a personal trainer—something absurd for our budget.
“$1,200 for a personal trainer,” I typed, barely holding back a laugh.
Then came the food. If Jake wanted gourmet meals, organic, non-GMO, free-range everything, that wasn’t cheap.
“$700 per month for groceries,” I added. Plus, he’d need to pay for cooking classes—those aren’t cheap either.
Leaning back in my chair, I laughed to myself, imagining Jake’s face when he saw this.
But the best was yet to come.
There was no way I could do all this and keep my full-time job. So if Jake wanted me full-time on this ridiculous schedule, he’d have to make up for my lost income.
I pulled out a calculator and estimated my salary’s worth.
“$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.
For good measure, I threw in a note about expanding the house—after all, if Jake was going to have his friends over regularly, they needed their own space. The last thing I needed was interruptions while sticking to my perfect new routine.
“$50,000 to build a separate ‘man cave’ so Jake and his friends don’t disrupt Lisa’s schedule.”
By the time I finished, the list was a masterpiece. A financial and logistical nightmare—but a masterpiece.
I printed it and set it on the kitchen counter, waiting for Jake to come home.
When he walked through the door that evening, he was cheerful.
“Hey, babe,” he called, dropping his keys on the counter. Then he spotted the paper. “What’s this?”
I kept my face straight, fighting laughter as I watched him pick it up.
“Oh, just a little list I made for you,” I said sweetly. “To help you become the best husband ever.”
Jake chuckled, thinking it was a joke.
But as he read, his smile faded. I saw the wheels turning in his head—the slow, dawning realization this wasn’t the playful game he thought it was.
“Wait… what is all this?” He squinted. “$1,200 for a personal trainer? $700 a month for groceries? Lisa, what the hell?”
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. Doesn’t that make sense?”
His face went pale as he flipped through the pages.
“$75,000 a year? You’re quitting your job?!” he asked, disbelief heavy in his voice.
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 madness of his own demands—it all hit him at once.
His confident smirk disappeared, replaced by something close to regret.
“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’m some project to be fixed?” My voice was calm but filled with hurt. “Jake, marriage isn’t about schedules or lists. It’s about respect. And if you ever try to ‘fix’ me like this again, you’ll be paying way more than what’s on that paper.”
Silence hung heavy between us.
Jake’s shoulders slumped. He let out a deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t realize how ridiculous it was. Steve made it sound reasonable, but now I see…it’s toxic. God, I’ve been such a fool.”
I nodded slowly, watching him carefully.
“Have you looked at Steve’s life? What makes you think that guy has any clue about marriage or life experience? Or anything else?”
Jake’s expression changed. The truth hit home.
“You’re right. He could never afford to live like this,” he said, slapping the list with the back of his hand. “He has no idea what he’s talking about. Lisa, I got carried away again, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” I said firmly. “But we can fix this. Now, let’s tear up that list and go back to being equals.”
Jake smiled weakly. The tension in the room started to break.
“Yeah… let’s do that.”
We ripped up the schedules together.
And for the first time in weeks, I felt it—like we were really on the same team again.
