I was completely stunned when my husband, Jake, handed me a detailed schedule designed to help me “become a better wife.” But instead of losing my cool, I decided to play along—little did he know, I had a lesson in store that would make him seriously rethink his new marriage game plan.
I’ve always seen myself as the calm, level-headed one in our relationship. Jake, on the other hand, has a knack for getting swept up in whatever catches his attention—whether it’s a new hobby or some viral YouTube video promising to change his life in just three easy steps.
Our marriage was rock solid—until Jake met Steve. Steve was one of those guys who believed being loud and opinionated automatically made him right, the kind who talks over you the moment you try to set him straight.
Unsurprisingly, Steve was perpetually single but always eager to dole out unsolicited relationship advice to his married coworkers, Jake included. Jake should have known better, but my poor husband was totally smitten by Steve’s over-the-top confidence.
At first, I didn’t think much of it—until Jake started making some seriously toxic comments that set off alarm bells.
“Steve says relationships work best when the wife runs the household,” Jake would repeat like a parrot. Or, “Steve thinks it’s crucial for women to always look good for their husbands, no matter how long they’ve been married.”
I’d roll my eyes and fire back with a sarcastic quip—but deep down, it was starting to grate on me. Jake was changing. He’d raise his eyebrows if I ordered takeout instead of cooking, and sigh dramatically when I let the laundry pile up—because, apparently, my full-time job wasn’t an excuse.
And then, one night, it happened. Jake came home with The List.
Jake sat me down at the kitchen table, unfolded a crisp piece of paper, and slid it toward me like he was handing over some official decree.
“I’ve been thinking,” he began, his voice thick with a condescension I’d never heard before. “You’re a great wife, Lisa. But there’s always room for improvement.”
My eyebrows shot up, disbelief written all over my face. “Oh really?”
He nodded enthusiastically, completely unaware he was stepping into a minefield. “Yeah. Steve helped me see that our marriage could be even better if you… you know, stepped up a bit.”
I stared down at the paper. It was a schedule — boldly titled “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife.”
This guy had actually taken the time to map out my entire week based on the “wisdom” of Steve — a single dude with zero relationship experience — dictating how I should “improve” as a wife.
According to the list, I was supposed to wake up at 5 a.m. every morning to whip up a gourmet breakfast for Jake. Then, I’d head to the gym for an hour to “stay in shape.”
After that? Oh, the joy continued: cleaning, laundry, ironing—an endless parade of chores, all before I even left for work. I was supposed to cook a homemade meal every single night and whip up fancy snacks whenever Jake and his buddies came over to hang out.
The whole schedule was dripping with sexism and insult in ways that left me speechless. I just stared at him, silently questioning if my husband had completely lost his mind.
“This will be great for you—and for us,” he added, totally clueless.
“Steve says it’s important to maintain structure, and I think you could benefit from—”
“I could benefit from what?” I cut in, my voice dangerously calm. Jake blinked, clearly thrown off by my interruption, but he quickly regained his composure.
“Well, you know… from having some guidance and a schedule.”
Honestly, I wanted to shove that paper right in his face and ask if he’d suddenly developed a death wish. But instead, something unexpected happened—I smiled.
“You’re right, Jake,” I said, all sweetness and smiles. “I’m so lucky you made me this schedule. I’ll start tomorrow.”
The instant relief that washed over his face was almost heartbreaking. I nearly felt sorry for him as I stood up and slapped that list on the fridge. Almost. Little did he know exactly what was coming.
The next morning, I couldn’t help but smirk as I glanced at that ridiculous schedule once more. If Jake thought he could hand me a list of “improvements,” he was about to discover just how much structure our life could really handle—on my terms.
I grabbed my laptop, opened a fresh document, and gave it a title: “Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever.” He wanted a perfect wife? Fine. But perfection came with a price.
I started by listing all the “helpful” suggestions he’d made—starting with that gym membership he was obsessed with. Honestly, it was laughable.
“$1,200 for a personal trainer,” I typed, barely suppressing a giggle.
Next up: the food. If Jake wanted to eat like royalty, it definitely wasn’t happening on our usual grocery budget. Organic, non-GMO, free-range—everything had to be top tier.
“$700 per month for groceries,” I typed. And knowing Jake, a cooking class might be in order too—those things don’t come cheap. But hey, perfection wasn’t exactly free.
I leaned back in my chair, chuckling as I pictured Jake’s reaction when he saw this. But I wasn’t done yet. No, the pièce de résistance was still waiting in the wings.
See, there was no way I could juggle all these impossible expectations and keep my job. If Jake wanted me to commit full-time to his ridiculous schedule, then he’d better be ready to make up for the lost income.
I pulled up a calculator and did some quick math, then added it to the list with a little note:
“$75,000 per year to replace Lisa’s salary since she’ll now be your full-time personal assistant, maid, and chef.”
By that point, my stomach was hurting from laughing so hard.
And just for good measure, I added a little extra — a suggestion that Jake should expand the house. After all, if he was going to have his buddies over all the time, they’d need a dedicated space that wouldn’t disrupt my newly organized, impossibly structured life.
“$50,000 to build a separate ‘man cave’ so Jake and his friends don’t interfere with Lisa’s schedule.”
By the time I finished, the list was nothing short of a masterpiece. A financial and logistical nightmare? Absolutely. But a masterpiece nonetheless. It wasn’t just a counterattack — it was a wake-up call.
I printed out the list, placed 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 an unusually good mood.
“Hey, babe,” he called out, dropping his keys on the counter. His eyes immediately landed on the paper. “What’s this?”
I kept my expression perfectly neutral, barely holding back a grin 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, clearly thinking I was just playing along with his little game. But as his eyes skimmed the first few lines, the grin started to fade. I could see the wheels turning in his head — the slow dawning that this wasn’t some lighthearted joke.
“Wait… what is all this?” He squinted at the numbers, his eyes widening as he took in the totals. “$1,200 for a personal trainer? $700 a month for groceries? What the hell, Lisa?”
I leaned casually against the kitchen island, arms crossed, waiting for him to process the full weight of the message.
“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’d better budget for all of that, don’t you think?”
Jake’s face went pale as he flipped through the pages. “$75,000 a year? You’re quitting your job?!”
I shrugged casually. “How else am I supposed to follow your plan? I can’t work and be the perfect wife, can I?”
He just stared at the paper, completely dumbfounded.
The numbers, the sheer absurdity of his own demands—it all hit him at once. His smugness vanished, replaced by a dawning realization that he had seriously, seriously messed up.
“I… I didn’t mean…” Jake stammered, eyes wide and full of regret. “Lisa, I just thought—”
“You thought what? That I could ‘improve’ myself like some kind of project?” My voice stayed calm, but the hurt underneath was real. “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 a hell of a lot more than what’s on that paper.”
Silence settled between us, heavy and uncomfortable. Jake’s expression softened, his shoulders sagging as he let out a long, tired 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 toxic. I’ve been such a fool.”
I nodded slowly, watching him closely. “Yeah, you have. Seriously, have you even looked at Steve’s life? What makes you think he has the experience to give advice on marriage—or anything important?”
The realization hit him hard, and the look on his face was absolutely priceless.
“You’re right. And he could never afford to live like this.” Jake slapped the list with the back of his hand. “He… he has no idea about the costs, or how demeaning this all is. Oh, Lisa, I really got carried away again, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but we’ll recover,” I said softly. “Now, let’s tear this paper up and get back to being equals.”
A weak smile flickered across his face, the tension easing just a bit. “Yeah… let’s do that.”
Together, we ripped the list to shreds, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like we were truly back on the same team.
Maybe this was exactly what we needed—a reminder that marriage isn’t about one person trying to be “better” than the other. It’s about being better together.
Next up:
Nora thought her marriage to Vincent was rock solid—until a routine check of the kitchen cabinets while he was away uncovered a devastating secret. A seemingly ordinary jar held a truth so shocking, it led her to file for divorce on the spot.
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This story is inspired by real events and people but 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 unintended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims as to the accuracy of events or character portrayals and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters, not the author or publisher.