I couldn’t believe my eyes when Jake, my husband, handed me a schedule titled “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife.” My heart skipped a beat—not because I was angry right away, but because I knew something wild was about to happen. Instead of exploding, I smiled. Deep down, I knew Jake was about to get a lesson he wouldn’t forget.
For years, I’ve been the calm, steady one in our marriage. Jake, bless him, has always been the guy who gets easily caught up in things. One week it’s some new hobby, the next he’s obsessed with a YouTube guru who promises to change his life with just three simple steps. But we were solid… until Jake met Steve.
Steve was something else. Loud, opinionated, and convinced that speaking over people made his point stronger. He was also, as you might have guessed, perpetually single. But that didn’t stop Steve from dishing out advice on relationships to every married guy at work—Jake included.
Honestly, I didn’t pay much attention at first. But then Jake started repeating Steve’s nonsense like gospel.
“Steve says relationships work best when the wife takes charge of the household,” he told me casually one afternoon.
Or, “Steve thinks it’s super important for wives to always look good for their husbands, no matter how long they’ve been married.”
I’d roll my eyes and toss back a sarcastic comment, but inside, I was annoyed. Jake was changing. I noticed him raising his eyebrows every time I ordered takeout instead of cooking. He sighed loud enough to hear when the laundry piled up, as if my full-time job wasn’t enough reason to skip some chores.
Then, one evening, the moment I dreaded arrived. Jake came home, sat me down at the kitchen table, and slid a folded piece of paper across to me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, voice dripping with a tone I barely recognized—half serious, half condescending. “You’re a great wife, Lisa. But there’s room for improvement.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”
He nodded proudly, as if he’d cracked some code. “Yeah. Steve helped me realize that our marriage could be even better if you, you know, stepped up a bit.”
I looked down at the paper and almost laughed out loud. It was a schedule—a detailed, color-coded schedule—titled “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife.” This man actually sat down and planned out my whole week based on advice from Steve, a single guy who didn’t have a clue about marriage.
According to Jake’s schedule, I was supposed to wake up at 5 a.m. every day to make him a fancy gourmet breakfast. Then hit the gym for an hour to “stay in shape.” After that, a full day of cleaning, laundry, ironing—before even leaving for work. And after work? Cooking meals from scratch, plus making fancy snacks whenever Jake’s friends came over.
It was sexist and insulting in ways that made my skin crawl. I stared at Jake, wondering if he’d lost his mind.
“This will be great for you—and us,” he said with a smile like he’d solved world peace. “Steve says it’s important to have structure, and I think you could benefit from—”
“Benefit from what?” I cut in, my voice ice-cold calm. Jake blinked, clearly thrown off, but he quickly recovered.
“Well, you know, from having some guidance and a schedule.”
I wanted to rip that list out of his hands and throw it across the room, but instead, I did something even better—I smiled.
“You’re right, Jake,” I said, sweet as sugar. “I’m so lucky you made me this schedule. I’ll start tomorrow.”
The relief on his face was almost too easy to see. I felt a pang of sympathy before I remembered what was coming. I stuck the list on the fridge and walked away, smirking.
The next day, I stared at the ridiculous schedule again and thought, If Jake thinks this will work, he’s about to find out just how much ‘structure’ our life can handle.
I grabbed my laptop and started my own document. The title: “Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever.” He wanted a perfect wife? Fine. But perfection wasn’t free.
I began listing everything he wanted from me—and added my own terms.
First, the gym membership. Jake was obsessed with the idea of me having a personal trainer. I typed, “$1,200 for a personal trainer” and laughed quietly.
Then, the food. Jake wanted gourmet breakfasts and dinners with organic, non-GMO, free-range ingredients. That wasn’t cheap.
“$700 per month for groceries,” I wrote. Maybe he’d want to chip in for cooking classes too, I thought. Those weren’t cheap either.
I leaned back, giggling as I imagined Jake’s reaction. But I wasn’t done.
How was I supposed to juggle all these tasks and still work my full-time job? If Jake wanted me to follow his perfect plan, he’d have to pay me for the time I’d lose.
I opened a calculator and typed, “$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.
And just to seal the deal, I added a note about the house.
“$50,000 to build a ‘man cave’ so Jake and his friends won’t disturb Lisa’s perfectly scheduled life.”
By the time I finished, my list was a masterpiece—a hilarious but brutal wake-up call.
That evening, Jake came home in a great mood.
“Hey, babe,” he called, dropping his keys on the counter.
He spotted my paper right away. “What’s this?” he asked, picking it up.
I kept a straight face, biting back laughter. “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. But as he read, the smile faded. I saw the confusion and shock spread across his face.
“Wait… what is all this?” he squinted at the numbers. “$1,200 for a personal trainer? $700 a month for groceries? What the hell, Lisa?”
I leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
“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 went pale as he flipped through the pages.
“$75,000 a year? You’re quitting your job?!” he asked, stunned.
I shrugged. “How else am I supposed to follow your plan? I can’t work and be the perfect wife, right?”
Jake stared at the list, dumbfounded. The absurdity of his own demands hit him all at once. His smug attitude disappeared, replaced by something softer—regret.
“I… I didn’t mean…” Jake stammered, eyes wide. “Lisa, I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I just thought—”
“You thought what?” I interrupted, calm but firm. “That I could be fixed like some project? Marriage isn’t about lists or routines. It’s about respect. If you try this again, you’ll be paying way more than what’s on that paper.”
The room was silent, heavy with meaning. Jake’s shoulders slumped. He let out a deep sigh.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Steve made it sound reasonable, but now I see—it’s toxic. I’ve been such a fool.”
I nodded, looking him in the eyes. “Have you ever stopped to think about Steve’s life? What makes you think he’s the right person to give advice on marriage?”
Jake’s face crumpled with understanding.
“You’re right. He couldn’t afford to live like this. He has no clue about the costs or how demeaning this is. Oh, Lisa, I really got carried away, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did,” I said gently. “But we’ll fix this. Let’s tear up these lists and be equals again.”
He smiled weakly, the tension breaking just a bit.
“Yeah… let’s do that.”
Together, we ripped up the lists. For the first time in weeks, I felt like we were truly on the same team again.
