I Cooked a Festive Dinner for 20 People for My Husbands Birthday, Then He Ditched Me to Celebrate at a Bar

I thought I was being a good wife, planning a big dinner party for Todd’s 35th birthday. I spent weeks preparing a feast that would make anyone proud. But just before the guests arrived, Todd made an announcement that left me speechless. He was ditching the party to watch a game at the bar. What happened next? Let’s just say, I got the last laugh—and it was delicious.

You’d think that after six years of marriage, Todd might show some appreciation. But no. Every year, I poured my heart into making his birthday special, and every year, he just took it all for granted. But this year? This year was the last straw.

Let me tell you about Todd. When we first met, he was charming. He would write me poetry, bring me flowers, and make me feel like the luckiest woman alive. But over the years, something changed. His “charm” morphed into a sense of entitlement that got worse and worse. It started off small—little things like expecting me to take care of everything, but it snowballed.

Last Thanksgiving was a perfect example. Todd had this great idea to host dinner for both our families. “Claire,” he said, grinning from ear to ear, “I think we should host Thanksgiving this year.”

“Great,” I said. “How should we divide the work?”

He waved me off. “Oh, you’re so much better at that stuff. I’ll handle drinks or something. Just make it memorable, okay?”

I should’ve known then, but I didn’t. For the next two weeks, I did everything. I planned, I cooked, I set up, all while Todd lounged on the couch. He’d occasionally ask, “Do you need me to pick up anything?” but that was it. On the big day, I roasted the turkey, made all the sides, and even baked two pies. Todd? He carried a cooler of beer to the living room. That was it.

When dinner rolled around, our families were raving about the food, the decorations, everything. And Todd, looking smug, decided to soak up all the praise. “Glad you all love it,” he said, grinning. “I wanted this year to be special.”

I couldn’t help myself. “Really, Todd? What part did you make special? The centerpiece or the green bean casserole?”

He just ignored me, of course. That’s Todd—he wants all the credit without doing any of the work.

Then, last year, I went all out for his birthday. I made him a personalized photo album, filled with pictures from our trips and memories of our best times together. His reaction? “Oh. So, where’s the real gift?” Ouch. That stung. It was a wake-up call. The man who once treasured thoughtful gifts now acted like they were worthless.

But this year? This year, I decided to go big. Todd demanded a “proper” birthday dinner. “Invite everyone—family, friends, my buddies,” he told me over dinner. “Make it decent. I don’t want to be embarrassed.”

I didn’t want to, but I said yes. I threw myself into planning. For two weeks, I worked tirelessly, making sure everything would be perfect: stuffed chicken, rosemary potatoes, a charcuterie board, and a three-layer chocolate cake with edible gold flakes. Todd? He didn’t lift a finger. Every night, he’d come home from work, plop down on the couch, and say, “You’ve got this, babe.”

The day of the party arrived. The house looked like it came straight out of a magazine. The table was set, the candles were lit, the food was ready. As I finished decorating the cake, Todd wandered into the kitchen, scrolling through his phone. He barely looked up.

“Looks good,” he muttered, grabbing a soda. And then, as if it was no big deal, he said, “I’m heading to the bar to watch the game. Cancel everything.”

I was frozen in disbelief. “You’re ditching your own birthday dinner?”

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, shrugging. “Just tell everyone we’re busy.”

I was livid, but I kept my cool. “Fine,” I said, through gritted teeth. And as he walked out the door, I made up my mind. If Todd wanted to act like a spoiled brat, I’d let him—but not without a lesson.

I grabbed my phone and texted all the guests: “Change of plans—meet us at the bar near our place. Bring your appetite!” Then, I loaded up the food and headed straight to the bar.

When I walked in, Todd was sitting with his buddies, blissfully unaware. I set up a table right in front of him, unpacking dish after dish. The smell of the food quickly caught the attention of people around us.

One guy asked, “What’s going on?”

I smiled and said loudly, “This was supposed to be my husband’s birthday dinner. But he ditched me for a game, so I thought, why let all this food go to waste?”

Laughter erupted. That’s when Todd noticed me. He stormed over, whisper-yelling, “Claire! What the hell are you doing?”

I ignored him and kept serving the food to the bar patrons. Then, the door opened, and in walked his parents, my parents, and all the other guests. Todd’s mom, not one to mince words, walked straight up to him. “What’s going on, Todd?”

“Oh, I’d love to explain!” I said, cutting in. “Todd decided that the game was more important than the dinner he demanded. So, I thought I’d bring it to him!”

His dad looked at him, shaking his head in disappointment. “Disrespectful,” he muttered. My mom, who had a knack for seeing the silver lining, grabbed a plate and said, “The food smells amazing! Let’s eat.”

Todd’s buddies were laughing at his expense, and the bar was turning into a full-on party. When I brought out the cake, it was the icing on the cake, literally. I had written, in bold letters: “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SELFISH HUSBAND!” on top.

By the time we got home, Todd was furious. “You humiliated me!” he yelled.

“No, Todd,” I said, keeping my calm. “You humiliated yourself. Don’t expect another homemade dinner from me anytime soon.”

It’s been two weeks since that night. Todd hasn’t exactly apologized, but he’s been unusually polite—probably because he’s terrified I’ll pull another stunt like that. One thing is for sure: I’m not the kind of wife who will let him walk all over me anymore. If nothing else, that’s a win in my book.

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