And then it happened. One night, my husband 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 began, his voice dripping with a condescension I hadn’t heard before. “You’re a great wife, Lisa, but there’s room for improvement.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Oh really?” I replied, feeling the tension build. He nodded, completely unaware of the danger 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 glanced at the paper in front of me. It was a detailed schedule titled Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife, written in bold. My stomach churned with disbelief.
This man, my husband, had actually taken the time to map out my entire week, based on advice from Steve—a single guy with zero relationship experience. I was supposed to wake up at 5 a.m. every day to make Jake a gourmet breakfast, then hit the gym to “stay in shape.” The rest of the day? Chores, cooking meals from scratch, and making fancy snacks for Jake and his friends when they came over to hang out. It was sexist, demeaning, and outright insulting.
I stared at Jake, wondering if he had completely lost his mind. He continued, oblivious to the fury simmering inside me. “This will be great for you—and us. Steve says structure is important, and I think you could benefit from—”
“I could benefit from what?” I interrupted, my voice dangerously calm. He blinked, surprised by my tone, but recovered quickly. “From some guidance and a schedule,” he finished, clueless.
I wanted to throw that paper at him and ask 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 you made me this schedule. I’ll start tomorrow.” Relief washed over his face. He had no idea what was coming next. I stuck the list on the fridge and quietly plotted my revenge.
The next day, as I stared at the absurd schedule again, I couldn’t help but smirk. If Jake thought he could hand me a list of “improvements,” he was about to find out what real structure looked like.
I pulled out my laptop and created Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever. He wanted the perfect wife? Fine, but it came with a price.
First on the list: his beloved gym routine. “Personal trainer: $1,200,” I typed, barely containing my laughter. Then, the gourmet food. If he wanted to eat like a king, it wasn’t happening on our current grocery budget. “Organic, free-range groceries: $700 per month.” And since cooking wasn’t my specialty, “Cooking classes: $$$” followed soon after.
But that was just the beginning. I calculated the loss of my income, since there was no way I could manage his list while working full-time. “Replace Lisa’s salary: $75,000 per year,” I added. And just for fun, I threw in the cost of expanding the house, because if he wanted his friends over regularly, they’d need a dedicated man cave. “Home expansion for man cave: $50,000.”
By the time I was done, the list was a masterpiece—a logistical and financial nightmare for him. I printed it out, left it on the kitchen counter, and waited.
When Jake got home, he spotted it immediately. “What’s this?” he asked, picking it up. “Oh, just a little something I put together to help you become the best husband ever,” I replied, feigning sweetness.
Jake chuckled at first, thinking it was a joke. But as he read the first few lines, his grin faded. “$1,200 for a personal trainer? $700 a month for groceries? What is this, Lisa?”
I crossed my arms. “Well, you want me to wake up at 5 a.m., hit the gym, make gourmet meals, clean, and host your friends, right? I figured we should budget for all of that.”
His eyes widened as he flipped through the pages. “$75,000 for your salary? You’re quitting your job?!”
“How else am I supposed to follow your plan? I can’t work and be the perfect wife, Jake,” I said calmly.
Jake’s face drained of color. The absurdity of his demands finally hit him. “I… I didn’t mean…” he stammered. “Lisa, I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I just thought—”
“You thought you could ‘fix’ me with some schedule? Marriage isn’t about lists, Jake. It’s about respect. And if you ever try to ‘improve’ me like this again, you’ll be paying far more than what’s on that paper.”
Silence filled the room as Jake realized how foolish he’d been. He sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, Lisa. I didn’t see it before, but now I get it. Steve made it sound so simple, but this… this is ridiculous.”
“Yes, it is,” I said. “And by the way, Steve isn’t exactly an expert on marriage, is he?”
Jake laughed nervously, glancing at the shredded list. “No, he’s not… He couldn’t afford this lifestyle, either.”
Together, we tore up the list, and for the first time in weeks, it felt like we were back on the same page. Maybe we needed this reminder—that marriage isn’t about one person being “better” than the other. It’s about being better together.