The Day I Taught My Husband a Lesson He’d Never Forget
When my husband, Eric, casually dropped the words “scrubbing toilets is women’s work,” while I was sick, exhausted, and drowning in newborn baby duties, something inside me snapped.
What happened next? Oh, it was glorious.
His beloved Xbox? Gone. My cousin’s professional cleaning skills? Hired. And the look on his face when he realized what I’d done? Absolutely priceless.
But let me back up—because this didn’t happen overnight.
The Warning Signs I Ignored
When you’re in love, you make excuses for the person you adore. And for two years of marriage, I made plenty for Eric.
Don’t get me wrong—he wasn’t a bad husband. In many ways, he was amazing. He remembered anniversaries, surprised me with flowers, and could make me laugh until my stomach hurt. My friends would gush, “You’re so lucky! Eric’s a total catch!”
And he was—on paper.
He worked hard as a software engineer, handled “manly” chores like car maintenance and trash duty, and never complained. But inside the house? That was my domain.
Even though I worked full-time running a marketing firm, I was the one scrubbing floors at midnight, folding laundry on weekends, and washing dishes while he cracked open a beer and sank into his gaming chair for hours of Call of Duty.
“Babe, you work so hard,” I’d say, feeling guilty for even thinking about asking for help. “You deserve to relax.”
He’d flash me that charming grin. “Thanks for understanding, Alice. You’re the best wife ever.”
So I kept quiet. I kept cleaning. I kept telling myself this was just how marriage worked.
The Baby That Changed Everything
Then came the two pink lines on the pregnancy test.
“Eric!” I called, hands shaking. “Come here!”
He paused his game and jogged over. “What’s wrong?”
I held up the test, grinning. “We’re having a baby.”
His face lit up like fireworks. “Seriously?!” He scooped me into his arms, spinning me around. “We’re really doing this? We’re gonna be parents?”
For nine months, Eric was perfect. He came to every doctor’s appointment, assembled the crib without cursing, and even researched the safest car seats. He’d come home with tiny socks, marveling, “Look how small these are! Our baby’s feet will fit in these!”
When morning sickness had me hugging the toilet, he brought me ginger tea and crackers. He painted the nursery, installed blackout curtains, and even practiced swaddling with a stuffed bear.
I thought, This is it. He’s changed. Parenthood is making him step up.
Oh, how wrong I was.
The Harsh Reality of Fatherhood
When Emma was born, Eric was amazing—for the first two weeks.
He took time off work, changed diapers without gagging, and rocked her to sleep at 3 a.m. “I want to be the best dad,” he whispered one night, cradling her.
But the moment he went back to work? Everything slid back onto me.
“You’re home all day,” he’d say when I mentioned the mountain of laundry. “I’m exhausted from work.”
Soon, I was doing everything—cooking, cleaning, shopping, and caring for a newborn—while he played video games for hours. “I need to decompress,” he’d say, as if I wasn’t running on two hours of sleep, covered in spit-up.
The Final Straw
Then, I got sick.
Fever. Chills. A throat so sore I could barely swallow. Emma had been up all night, and I was dying.
“Eric,” I croaked from the couch. “I need help. Can you clean the bathroom and watch Emma so I can rest?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Gross. That’s women’s work. I’m not scrubbing toilets.”
I froze. “Excuse me?”
“Come on, Alice. You’re better at it anyway.”
That’s when I snapped.
The Revenge Plan
I called my cousin Stacey—a professional cleaner who owed me a favor.
“I need you to deep-clean my house Monday,” I said. “And don’t skimp on the bathroom.”
Then, I listed Eric’s precious Xbox for sale online.
By Monday afternoon, Stacey had transformed our house into a sparkling palace. And Eric’s gaming setup? Gone. Sold for $800—exactly enough to cover her fee.
When Eric walked in that evening, he froze. “Wow, you cleaned! It looks amazing!”
“Nope,” I said, bouncing Emma on my hip. “I hired someone. And since you refused to help, I used your Xbox to pay for it.”
His jaw dropped. “You—you SOLD my Xbox?!”
“Yep.” I grabbed my overnight bag. *”Emma and I are staying at my mom’s. Enjoy your spotless house. Oh, and Stacey didn’t do the laundry—that’s *your* job now.”*
The look on his face? Priceless.
The Aftermath
When I came back two days later, the house was still clean. The laundry was folded. And Eric? Humbled.
He apologized, promised to do better, and—most importantly—never called housework “women’s work” again.
Sometimes, you’ve gotta sell a gaming console to teach your husband a lesson.
And let me tell you—it was worth every penny.