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.
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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 —”
“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.
My MIL Kicked Me Out of Thanksgiving Dinner for Bringing a Store-Bought Pie — Karma Didn’t Let It Slide
Overwhelmed by new motherhood at forty, all Clem could manage for her mother-in-law Brenda’s perfect Thanksgiving dinner was a store-bought pie. Unimpressed, Brenda humiliated her in front of the guests and sent her packing. But when James, Clem’s husband, returned unexpectedly, karma stepped in. What began as a Thanksgiving disaster evolved into a reckoning for Brenda and the surprising start of a stronger family bond.
Motherhood at forty is no joke. People love to romanticize the late-in-life baby glow, but the reality? My glow was mostly sweat from trying to survive on three hours of sleep and caffeine I barely had time to finish.
Between the midnight cries, endless diaper changes, and the mental gymnastics of keeping another human alive, I’d lost all sense of time.
A woman holding a baby | Source: Midjourney
I hadn’t felt like myself in weeks. So, when Thanksgiving rolled around, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to tackle my mother-in-law Brenda’s Martha Stewart-level expectations.
Brenda’s Thanksgiving wasn’t just a dinner; it was a performance. She’s the kind of woman who obsesses over place settings, insists on family members contributing elaborate dishes, and still finds time to “graciously” host.
Normally, I’d step up and make something. Pies, casseroles, tarts, cheesecakes, you name it. But this year?
A cheesecake on a stand | Source: Midjourney
This year, I grabbed a store-bought pumpkin pie on the way to her house and called it a win.
Look, I knew that it wasn’t going to go down well. But I didn’t really care. After a year of IVF treatments, a pregnancy that was high-risk, and a baby who zapped my energy instantaneously, I was exhausted. Brenda would be fine.
Right?
A pumpkin pie in a box | Source: Midjourney
I arrived balancing the baby strapped to my chest, a diaper bag slung over one shoulder, and the pie in one precarious hand. I felt like a walking circus act. Brenda opened the door, her smile tight, as it usually was when I showed up solo.
But it wasn’t my fault that James had been called onto a last-minute business trip.
Brenda’s eyes roamed me from head to toe. And when they finally landed on the pie, that smile fell faster than my self-esteem on a bad day.
“Clem, what’s this?” she asked, her voice clipped.
A baby strapped to her mom | Source: Midjourney
“Pumpkin pie, Brenda,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “I bought it from the artisanal bakery. I didn’t have time to bake anything…”
She cut me off with a sharp sigh.
“You couldn’t even make a simple dessert, Clem? Everyone else managed, and they all have jobs and children.”
The interior of a bakery | Source: Midjourney
I swallowed hard, trying to explain how hard things had been with James out of town for work. And the fact that everyone else had kids above five years old. Eve, my daughter, was the youngest, at four months old.
“It’s been a little chaotic, Brenda. Between the night feeds and just… surviving, I didn’t have the bandwidth to make anything.”
She raised a hand, silencing me mid-sentence.
An annoyed older woman | Source: Midjourney
“This is just lazy, Clementine,” she declared, loud enough for the entire house to hear. “You’re a mother now. You need to learn how to handle your responsibilities. James deserves so much better. Honestly. This baby deserves so much better.”
I felt my face flush with anger and humiliation. Where was the doting grandmother who ignored everyone else except the new baby? Where was the supportive mother-in-law who wanted to make sure that I was okay and managing?
An upset woman holding a baby | Source: Midjourney
The guests around us stopped their casual conversations and went eerily silent. Brenda’s best friend coughed awkwardly, while James’ sister, Sarah, shot me a wide-eyed look as if to say, What is she doing?
But still, no one stepped in. Not even to come and take my baby from me. Instead, I was holding Eve and the pumpkin pie, while the diaper bag lay at my feet.
A baby bag | Source: Midjourney
Then Brenda delivered her final blow.
“Maybe you should go home and think about your priorities, Clem. And there’s really no point to you being here. James isn’t here anyway.”
She was kicking me out. Over a pie. What was wrong with this woman?
The baby, as if on cue, let out a sharp cry. My hands shook as I tried to adjust the straps on the carrier, fumbling to grab my things. Eve was hungry. I told myself that I didn’t need this.
An upset older woman | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t need Brenda’s approval. But tears blurred my vision as I headed for the door, cradling my baby and piecing together what shred of dignity I had left.
Before I could leave, the door swung open.
Standing there was James, suitcase in hand, and his dad, Frank, carrying a bag of last-minute groceries that Brenda must have needed.
An open front door | Source: Midjourney
Apparently, my husband had cut his trip short to surprise me for Thanksgiving, and Frank had gone to pick him up.
“I couldn’t miss Thanksgiving with my two favorite girls,” James said, setting his suitcase and the diaper bag to the side. “Especially with it being Eve’s first Thanksgiving.”
I sighed, which forced James to look at me. Like, truly look at me.
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
“What’s going on?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked from my tear-streaked face to Brenda’s defiant posture.
Brenda straightened, clearly caught off guard.
“Your wife brought a store-bought pie,” she started, her voice tinged with indignation. “It’s disrespectful.”
Frank let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.
A man standing in a doorway | Source: Midjourney
“Disrespectful? Brenda, half the dishes on this table were ordered because you didn’t know how to cook vegetarian dishes for Sarah.”
He gestured toward Sarah, who had suddenly become very interested in her wine glass.
Brenda’s face turned bright red.
Vegetarian meals on a counter | Source: Midjourney
“That’s… different,” she stammered.
“No, it’s not,” James said, stepping closer to me. “Mom, you kicked my wife out over a pie? She’s been handling everything on her own while I’ve been gone, and this is how you treat her? Unbelievable. Disappointing. Have you even held Eve since Clem brought her over?”
The baby let out another small whimper as if punctuating James’ words. Brenda opened her mouth, but for once, no words came out.
Finally, she muttered something.
A woman holding a crying baby | Source: Midjourney
“I didn’t hear that,” James said.
“I said I’m sorry,” she snapped.
Then she turned to me, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Please stay, Clem,” she said.
I glanced at James, who gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.
A woman cuddling her baby | Source: Midjourney
“Let me just feed Eve upstairs and I’ll leave,” I said.
“Honey, stay,” he whispered. “For me, please.”
His eyes softened as he bent to kiss Eve’s head.
So I stayed.
A couple holding their baby | Source: Midjourney
The rest of the dinner was painfully awkward. Brenda avoided me, sticking to the far side of the table like I might infect her with store-bought shame. Sarah quietly refilled my glass of grape juice when she thought no one was looking, and Frank made a point of chatting with me about anything other than pies.
James continued to pile my plate with turkey and roast potatoes, and a cheesy broccoli casserole that I loved, too.
Finally, I felt seen.
A glass of juice on a table | Source: Midjourney
After everyone left, Brenda found me in the kitchen. Eve was asleep and James and I didn’t want to wake her up, so, I was clearing out the kitchen. Brenda’s demeanor was softer now, almost hesitant as she walked in.
“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. It wasn’t fair,” she glanced down, fidgeting with the hem of her apron. “I’ve just been stressed out about hosting, and I took it out on you. That was wrong.”
A woman in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
The apology surprised me.
I wanted to lash out, to tell her how humiliating everything had been. But something about her expression stopped me. She wasn’t just embarrassed; she looked genuinely remorseful.
“And especially after everything you’ve been through to get Eve, I should have known better. You’ve made James so happy, Clem. First by being his wife, and then giving him a baby.”
I nodded, accepting her apology more for James’ sake than my own. I didn’t expect much to change.
An older woman in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
A few days later, Frank showed up at my house unannounced. He said he wanted to check in on the baby, and me. I appreciated the gesture, especially when he started coming by regularly to help out.
A week after that, Brenda tagged along.
She was holding two cups of takeaway coffee, a bag of cookies, and a box of donuts. She looked nervous, but determined to make things right.
A box of donuts | Source: Midjourney
“I thought you might need a break,” she said, stepping inside. “Here’s some treats, and point me to Eve. It’s grandma duty now.”
We sat in the living room, Brenda holding Eve, and we chatted like old friends.
It was surreal.
Brenda wasn’t just apologizing anymore. She was trying to make amends. Frank even winked at me as if to say, I told her to do this.
A woman holding a baby girl | Source: Midjourney
Since then, Brenda has shown up almost weekly, sometimes with coffee, sometimes with groceries. She’s offered to babysit so James and I could have a date night and even texted me a recipe for homemade pie.
We can bake one together next time.
Karma didn’t just humble her; it changed our relationship for the better. And now, whenever I see a store-bought pie, I can’t help but smile.
Pies on a counter | Source: Midjourney
What would you have done?
If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
My Mother-in-Law Claims I Ruined Thanksgiving Dinner
When Scarlet arrives at her first Thanksgiving dinner as Shaun’s wife, she finds herself looking at a dinner table with no empty seats for her. Instead, she sees a smirking mother-in-law and her husband’s ex-girlfriend sitting next to Shaun, giggling away at his jokes… What will Scarlet do?
Thanksgiving was supposed to be one of those easy family get-togethers, where I could just relax, catch up with everyone, and enjoy some delicious food.
At least, that was what I’d hoped for.
A Thanksgiving dinner spread on a table | Source: Midjourney
But things get tricky when your mother-in-law is involved, especially one who still insists on inviting your husband’s ex-girlfriend to every single holiday meal. I’d had a few years of dealing with Angela’s snarky, passive-aggressive remarks, but this year, she really outdid herself.
I’ll never forget how that dinner crashed and burned on Thanksgiving, and somehow, I’m the one who got blamed for it all.
Shaun, my husband, had gone to Angela’s place a bit earlier that day. He wanted to help her set up while I made the pies.
A woman making a pie crust | Source: Midjourney
“I’ll go ahead and you take your time and make the pumpkin pie, honey,” he said. “And make the pecan pie extra sweet.”
He gave me a kiss on the head and bolted out the door. I wasn’t worried that he left early because Shaun was a menace when I was in the kitchen, always wanting my attention, causing a few burnt meals in the past.
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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