How I Finally Got My Husband to Help—One Glitter Bomb at a Time
Hey everyone!! Buckle up, because what I’m about to tell you is so wild, even I can’t believe it really happened. Last week, something snapped inside me. My husband, Adam, has this ridiculous habit—and no, I’m not exaggerating—of taking these royal, hour-long baths every single morning. Yep. Every. Morning.
Like seriously, who does that?! While I’m in the kitchen yelling over screaming kids, dodging cereal spills, and trying to find missing socks, this man is in a bathtub like he’s at a five-star spa. I’ve begged, nagged, reasoned, even tried bribery. But every time I say something, he just waves it off and says the same thing:
“Sweetie, my bath is my sacred escape. From the kids… and, let’s be honest, from you. You can handle things for an hour, can’t you?”
Oh no, he didn’t. Yes, he did.
Normally, I’d roll my eyes and move on, but not last week. That day was different. I had a huge job interview lined up—the kind of opportunity I’d been waiting forever for. I was running late and needed help getting the kids ready. I called out, practically begging:
“Adam, can you please help? Just ten minutes! I can’t do this all myself today!”
He looked me dead in the eye, gave me this smirky little smile, and said:
“Babe, you’ve got this. I need this bath. It’s the only thing keeping me sane.”
And with that, he hummed his way into the bathroom and shut the door behind him like he was heading to paradise.
That was it. That was my breaking point. I stood there, cereal in my hair, toddler tugging on my pants, and a baby crying in the background—and I decided I was done.
I got the kids to school—somehow. My blouse had a cereal stain, my hair was in a panic ponytail, and I was already ten minutes late for my interview. I tried to smile through it, but when I walked in, they barely looked at me. I knew it was over before it even started.
On the drive back home, Adam’s words kept ringing in my head like some twisted jingle.
“From the kids… and you…”
Oh, really? Okay, Adam. If this was a game, I was going to play to win.
Operation: Wake Up, Adam
That night, while Adam snored away in peaceful ignorance, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, a wicked grin forming. I knew his whole bath routine like the back of my hand—candles, fancy bath oils, some zen playlist with whale sounds and waterfalls.
“You wanna escape for an hour?” I whispered. “Let me show you what escaping really looks like.”
The next morning, I got up early and got to work. First step: I swapped his expensive bath oils with baby oil. That stuff is slippery as heck and impossible to rinse off. He was in for a surprise.
Then, I hacked into his relaxation playlist and replaced it with the kids’ favorite jam—“I Like To Move It”—on repeat. Loud. Finally, I turned the water heater down just enough to make his bath lukewarm at best.
He gave me that smug wink as he headed to the bathroom.
“Enjoy your hour, honey,” I said under my breath.
Within five minutes, I heard the chaos begin.
“What the—? Why is it so slippery?!”
Then, BOOM, the music kicked in:
“I like to move it, move it!” blared from the speakers.
Then the shriek:
“WHY IS THE WATER COLD?!”
I leaned against the wall, laughing so hard I almost cried. Adam stormed out of the bathroom, dripping wet and furious.
“What the hell happened in there?!” he barked.
I looked him square in the eyes, calm and cool.
“Just like you want your sacred bath time, I need support. Especially on big days like yesterday.”
He blinked, speechless. For a second, I thought he’d get it. But nope. Next morning, there he was, back in the tub.
Level Up: Sparkle Edition
Alright. He wanted war? I’d give him war.
The next week, I ordered a special kind of bath bomb I found online. Looked normal—but the moment it hit water, it released glitter. Lots of it.
That morning, he dropped it into the tub, and seconds later—POOF—an explosion of sparkle filled the room. Adam let out a scream like he’d been attacked by a unicorn.
He came out of the bathroom looking like a disco ball.
“WHY IS THERE GLITTER EVERYWHERE?!”
I shrugged, holding back laughter.
“You looked like you needed a little sparkle in your life, sweetie.”
It took him hours to clean the tub. But still, he didn’t give up the baths.
“Seriously, what is wrong with this man?” I muttered to myself.
The Pirate Invasion
At this point, I had an idea—why not get the kids in on the fun?
We filled the tub with toy boats, rubber ducks, and freezing cold water. I even rigged his speaker to blast sounds of a pirate battle. Cannons, swords, shouting. The works.
The next morning, he walked in whistling, completely unaware.
The scream that followed?
“WHY IS THE WATER ICE COLD?! WHAT IS THIS—ARE THOSE CANNONS?!”
He slipped on a plastic boat and flopped into the tub. I was crying laughing behind the door.
He came out soaked and shocked.
“WHAT IS GOING ON IN THIS HOUSE?!”
I folded my arms.
“When I get no peace, you get no peace.”
The Fake Emergency
The next week, I decided to go big.
As he grabbed his towel and headed to the bathroom, I screamed, “The kids are locked in the garage!”
He panicked and ran. Meanwhile, I snuck into the bathroom and installed a motion-triggered air horn near the tub.
Adam rushed back in, relieved the kids were okay. But when he stepped into the tub—
BWWAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!! The air horn screamed like a fire truck.
Adam slipped, yelped, and flew right out of the tub.
“WHAT IS THIS?! AM I IN A PRANK SHOW?!”
I smiled sweetly.
“Nope. Just my life. Welcome to it.”
That night, he finally seemed to get it. He sat beside me, quiet, then said:
“I’m sorry. I haven’t been fair. I’ll help with the kids from now on.”
And you know what? He meant it. He started waking up earlier, packing lunch boxes, helping with shoes, even brushing little Amelia’s tangled curls without complaining. His “sacred baths” became thirty-minute showers after the kids were off to school.
The Grand Finale: Pink Hair, Don’t Care
But I wasn’t done yet. One last prank, just to make sure the lesson really stuck.
I bought neon pink, temporary hair dye and swapped it with his shampoo.
That night, while he soaked in the tub like a king, the dye worked its magic.
Ten minutes later, I heard the loudest scream of my life.
“VIENNNAAAAAA!!! WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY HAIR?!”
He ran out, looking like a highlighter had exploded on his head. The kids and I fell to the floor laughing.
“You look fabulous!” I said, grinning. “Now we’re even.”
Mission Accomplished
It took a few days—and several very awkward video calls for him to realize neon pink wasn’t his color—but he never took hour-long baths again.
Now he’s a full partner in the morning routine. Teamwork, balance, and a little bit of glitter fixed what long talks couldn’t.
So yeah, I didn’t win a Nobel Prize. But I definitely earned my Household CEO title.
And next time Adam says he needs an “escape,” he better check the shampoo bottle first. 😏
