I was stunned when my husband, Jake, handed me a schedule to help me “become a better wife.” Instead of blowing up, I played along. Little did he know, I was about to teach him a lesson that would make him rethink marriage entirely.
I’ve always prided myself on being the level-headed one. Jake, bless him, gets swept up in things—new hobbies, random YouTube gurus promising life changes in three steps. We were solid until Jake met Steve. Steve was the type who thought being loud made him right, the kind who talks over you when you try to correct him. Perpetually single, yet dispensing relationship advice to married colleagues, Jake included.
At first, I brushed it off. But soon Jake started parroting Steve’s nonsense: “Steve says relationships work best when the wife takes charge of the household.” Or, “Steve thinks women should always look good for their husbands.” I’d roll my eyes, but it was getting under my skin. Jake began arching his eyebrows when I ordered takeout, sighing when laundry piled up—never mind I had a full-time job.
Then came The List. One night, Jake sat me down, unfolded a paper, and slid it across the table. “You’re a great wife, Lisa. But there’s room for improvement.”
At the top: “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife.” He had mapped out my entire week based on Steve’s advice. Wake at 5 a.m. to make Jake a gourmet breakfast. Hit the gym for an hour to “stay in shape.” Then chores—cleaning, laundry, ironing—all before work. Cook dinner from scratch every evening. Prepare snacks for Jake and his friends.
It was sexist and insulting. I stared at him, wondering if he’d lost his mind. “This will be great for you, and us,” he said, oblivious.
I smiled sweetly. “You’re right, Jake. I’ll start tomorrow.” Relief washed over his face. He had no idea what was coming.
The next day, I pulled out my laptop and created “Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever.” If he wanted perfection, fine—but perfection had a price.
First, the gym. “$1,200 for a personal trainer.” Next, food. Organic, non-GMO, free-range everything. “$700 per month for groceries.” Cooking classes too. Then the pièce de résistance: my salary. “$75,000 per year to replace Lisa’s income since she will now be your full-time maid, chef, and assistant.”
I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. For good measure, I added: “$50,000 to build a man cave so Jake and his friends don’t disrupt Lisa’s schedule.”
By the time I finished, it was a masterpiece—a financial nightmare, but a masterpiece nonetheless.
That evening, Jake came home cheerful. He spotted the paper. “What’s this?”
“Just a little list to help you become the best husband ever,” I said sweetly.
He chuckled, then frowned as he read. “$1,200 for a trainer? $700 for groceries? $75,000 a year? Lisa, what the hell?”
I crossed my arms. “Well, you want me to wake at 5 a.m., hit the gym, cook gourmet meals, clean, host your friends. We should budget for all that, don’t you think?”
His face turned pale. “You’re quitting your job?!”
“How else am I supposed to follow your plan? I can’t work and be the perfect wife.”
The absurdity hit him. His smugness evaporated. “I didn’t mean… 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? Marriage isn’t about lists. It’s about respect. Try to ‘fix’ me again, and you’ll pay more than what’s on that paper.”
Silence. Then his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. Steve made it sound sensible, but now I see it’s toxic. I’ve been a fool.”
I nodded. “Yes, you have. Look at Steve’s life—what makes you think he knows anything about marriage?”
Jake sighed. “You’re right. He could never afford this, and it’s demeaning. I got carried away.”
“Yes, but we’ll recover. Let’s tear that paper up and go back to being equals.”
We ripped it together, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like we were back on the same team. Marriage isn’t about one person being “better.” It’s about being better together.
