The open bar was a hit. Everyone was mingling, drinks in hand, and laughter filled the room. The waiters placed two bottles of wine on each table, along with bread and butter.
“This wine is fantastic,” Bob said, pouring himself another glass. “Have you tried it, Mike?”
“Not yet, but I will,” I replied, reaching for my glass.
Soon, the buffet was announced. The emcee explained that tables would be called up a few at a time, starting with family.
“That makes sense,” Sarah said. “Family first.”
We watched as the first few tables were called. The buffet looked incredible, with a variety of dishes. However, I noticed something concerning.
“Those plates are piled high,” I whispered to Sarah. “I hope there’s enough for everyone.”
“Yeah, me too,” she replied, frowning.
Time passed, and more tables were called. Family members returned for seconds, their plates even fuller than before. My stomach grumbled as we waited.
“Finally!” I said when our table was called.
But when we reached the buffet, it was almost empty. We managed to scrape together a few scraps and returned to our seats, feeling disappointed.
“This is all that’s left?” Jane asked, looking at her nearly empty plate.
“Afraid so,” I said. “I can’t believe they ran out of food.”
Everyone at our table was visibly upset. The mood had shifted from joy to frustration.
“This is ridiculous!” Bob said. “I’m still hungry.”
“Me too,” Sarah added. “What are we supposed to do now?”
We sat there, picking at our meager portions. The conversations around us became hushed and tense.
“Someone should have planned better,” Jane muttered. “This is a wedding, for goodness’ sake.”
Tom, the groom, walked over with a concerned look on his face.
“Hey, Mike, is everything okay?” he asked.
“Not really, Tom,” I replied. “There’s no food left. We’re all still hungry.”
Tom’s face fell. “I’m so sorry. I thought there would be enough for everyone.”
“It’s not your fault,” Sarah said kindly. “We’ll figure something out.”
After Tom left, we continued to chat, trying to make the best of the situation.
“Wouldn’t it be funny if we just ordered pizza?” Bob joked, trying to lighten the mood.
“That’s not a bad idea,” I said, half-serious. “I’m starving.”
“Let’s do it,” Jane said, her eyes lighting up. “We can all pitch in.”
Everyone agreed, and we quickly pooled our money. I called a nearby pizza place and ordered four large pizzas and some wings.
“Thirty minutes,” the delivery guy said. “We’ll be right there.”
“Perfect,” I replied, feeling a bit of relief.
We waited, our anticipation growing. The mood at our table started to improve as we imagined the pizza arriving.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this!” Sarah laughed. “This is going to be a story to tell!”
Finally, the pizzas arrived. I met the delivery guy outside and carried the boxes in, feeling the eyes of other guests on me.
“Did you really order pizza?” one of them asked, surprised.
“Yep,” I said, grinning. “Help yourselves if you didn’t get enough food.”
As we started eating, the atmosphere at our table transformed. We shared the pizzas with nearby tables that had also missed out on the buffet, and everyone was grateful.
“This is the best idea ever!” Bob said, biting into a slice. “Thanks, Mike!”
“No problem,” I replied, feeling a sense of camaraderie. However, I didn’t notice the other tables looking at us with clear disapproval.
I tried to enjoy my pizza, but I couldn’t shake the feeling something bad was coming. Just then, a tall man in a suit, who I recognized as Linda’s father, approached our table.
“Excuse me,” he said, his voice stern. “Where did you get that pizza?”
I looked up at him and sighed. “We ordered it. There wasn’t enough food left at the buffet, and we were all still hungry.”
He glanced at the nearly empty pizza boxes, his eyes narrowing. “You didn’t get enough food?”
“No,” I replied, trying to stay calm. “By the time we got to the buffet, there was hardly anything left.”
Linda’s father frowned. “There are two slices left. May I have one?”
I looked at him, feeling a mix of frustration and disbelief. “Honestly, sir, no. Your family ate most of the buffet food. We had to order this just to get something in our stomachs.”
His face turned red. “You’re refusing to share?”
“Yes,” I said firmly. “We barely got to eat anything, and we’re still hungry.”
He stood there for a moment, clearly angry. Then he turned and walked back to his table, muttering under his breath. The tension in the room was palpable. I could see the bride, Linda, glaring at us from across the room. The family at their table was whispering and shooting daggers our way.
“This isn’t good,” Jane said quietly. “I think we’re in trouble.”
Tom came back over, looking distressed. “Mike, I’m sorry, but you and Sarah need to leave.”
“What? Why?” I asked, feeling a surge of anger.
“Linda is really upset,” Tom explained. “Her father is furious. They think you disrespected them by ordering pizza and not sharing.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Tom, we were starving. We didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“I know,” he said, looking genuinely sorry. “But it’s causing too much tension. Please, just go. We’ll talk later.”
Feeling frustrated and hurt, I nodded. “Alright, we’ll leave.”
Sarah and I gathered our things and left the reception. We called a cab and went home, the evening ending on a sour note.
A few days later, Tom called me. “Mike, can we talk?”
“Sure,” I said, still feeling a bit annoyed. “What’s up?”
“I want to apologize,” Tom began. “I had a long talk with Linda and her family. They realize now that there wasn’t enough food for everyone. Linda is furious with her family for taking so much and leaving the other guests with nothing.”
“I appreciate that, Tom,” I said, feeling a bit relieved. “It was a tough situation for everyone.”
“Yeah, it was,” Tom agreed. “Linda’s father feels terrible about what happened. He wants to make it up to everyone.”
“Really? How?” I asked, curious.
“He’s planning an ‘After Wedding Shindig’,” Tom explained. “He’s going to invite everyone who was at the wedding, plus a few more. There will be plenty of food and entertainment. He wants to make sure no one goes hungry this time.”
“That sounds great,” I said, genuinely pleased. “When is it?”
“Mid-August,” Tom replied. “He’s pulling in favors and going all out. There’ll be food, drinks, music, and even some fun activities like axe throwing and a bonfire.”
“Wow, that sounds amazing,” I said, smiling. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Me too,” Tom said. “I hope this helps smooth things over.”
“I think it will,” I agreed.
As I hung up the phone, I felt a sense of relief. The situation had been awkward and tense, but it seemed like things were moving in a positive direction.
Reflecting on the whole ordeal, I realized how unexpected and strange it had all been. A simple lack of food had caused so much drama, but in the end, it brought about a solution that promised to be even more fun than the original event.
My husband created a new schedule to ‘improve my role as a wife’ — I taught him a lesson in return
I was stunned when my husband, Jake, handed me a schedule to help me “become a better wife.” But instead of blowing up, I played along.Little did Jake know, I was about to teach him a lesson that would make him rethink his newfound approach to marriage.
I’ve always prided myself on being the level-headed one in our marriage. Jake, bless his heart, could get swept up in things pretty easily, whether it was a new hobby, or some random YouTube video that promised to change his life in three easy steps.
But we were solid until Jake met Steve. Steve was the type of guy who thought being loudly opinionated made him right, the type that talks right over you when you try to correct him.
He was also a perpetually single guy (who could have guessed?), who graciously dispensed relationship advice to all his married colleagues, Jake included. Jake should’ve known better, but my darling husband was positively smitten with Steve’s confidence.
I didn’t think much of it until Jake started making some noxious comments.
“Steve says relationships work best when the wife takes charge of the household,” he’d say. Or “Steve thinks it’s important for women to look good for their husbands, no matter how long they’ve been married.”
I’d roll my eyes and reply with some sarcastic remark, but it was getting under my skin. Jake was changing. He’d arch his eyebrows if I ordered takeout instead of cooking, and sigh when I let the laundry pile up because, God forbid, I had my own full-time job.
And then it happened. One night, he came home with The List.
He sat me down at the kitchen table, unfolded a piece of paper, and slid it across to me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice dripping with a condescending tone I hadn’t heard from him before. “You’re a great wife, Lisa. But there’s room for improvement.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Oh really?”
He nodded, oblivious to the danger zone he was entering. “Yeah. Steve helped me realize that our marriage could be even better if you, you know, stepped up a bit.”
I stared at the paper in front of me. It was a schedule… and he’d written “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife” at the top in bold.
This guy had actually sat down and mapped out my entire week based on what Steve — a single guy with zero relationship experience — thought I should do to “improve” myself as a wife.
I was supposed to wake up at 5 a.m. every day to make Jake a gourmet breakfast. Then I’d hit the gym for an hour to “stay in shape.”
After that? A delightful lineup of chores: cleaning, laundry, ironing. And that was all before I left for work. I was supposed to cook a meal from scratch every evening and make fancy snacks for Jake and his friends when they came over to hang out at our place.
The whole thing was sexist and insulting on so many levels I didn’t even know where to start. I ended up staring at him, wondering if my husband had lost his mind.
“This will be great for you, and us,” he continued, oblivious.
“Steve says it’s important to maintain structure, and I think you could benefit from —”
“I could benefit from what?” I interrupted, my voice dangerously calm. Jake blinked, caught off guard by the interruption, but he recovered quickly.
“Well, you know, from having some guidance and a schedule.”
I wanted to throw that paper in his face and ask him if he’d developed a death wish. Instead, I did something that surprised even me: I smiled.
“You’re right, Jake,” I said sweetly. “I’m so lucky that you made me this schedule. I’ll start tomorrow.”
The relief on his face was instant. I almost felt sorry for him as I got up and stuck the list on the fridge. Almost. He had no idea what was coming.
The next day, I couldn’t help but smirk as I studied the ridiculous schedule again. If Jake thought he could hand me a list of “improvements,” then he was about to find out just how much structure our life could really handle.
I pulled out my laptop, opened up a fresh document, and titled it, “Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever.” He wanted a perfect wife? Fine. But there was a cost to perfection.
I began by listing all the things he had suggested for me, starting with the gym membership he was so keen on. It was laughable, really.
“$1,200 for a personal trainer.” I typed, barely containing my giggle.
Next came the food. If Jake wanted to eat like a king, that wasn’t happening on our current grocery budget. Organic, non-GMO, free-range everything? That stuff didn’t come cheap.
“$700 per month for groceries,” I wrote. He’d probably need to chip in for a cooking class too. Those were pricey, but hey, perfection wasn’t free.
I leaned back in my chair, laughing to myself as I imagined Jake’s face when he saw this. But I wasn’t done. Oh no, the pièce de résistance was still to come.
See, there was no way I could juggle all these expectations while holding down my job. If Jake wanted me to dedicate myself full-time to his absurd routine, then he’d have to compensate for the loss of my income.
I pulled up a calculator, estimating the value of my salary. Then, I added it to the list, complete with a little note: “$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 at this point.
And just for good measure, I threw in a suggestion about him needing to expand the house. After all, if he was going to have his friends over regularly, they’d need a dedicated space that wouldn’t intrude on my newly organized, impossibly structured life.
“$50,000 to build a separate ‘man cave’ so Jake and his friends don’t disrupt Lisa’s schedule.”
By the time I was done, the list was a masterpiece. A financial and logistical nightmare, sure, but a masterpiece nonetheless. It wasn’t just a counterattack — it was a wake-up call.
I printed it out, set 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 a good mood.
“Hey, babe,” he called out, dropping his keys on the counter. He spotted the paper almost immediately. “What’s this?”
I kept my face neutral, fighting the urge to laugh 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, thinking I was playing along with his little game. But as he scanned the first few lines, the grin started to fade. I could see the wheels turning in his head, the slow realization that this wasn’t the lighthearted joke he thought it was.
“Wait… what is all this?” He squinted at the numbers, his eyes widening as he saw the total costs. “$1,200 for a personal trainer? $700 a month for groceries? What the hell, Lisa?”
I leaned against the kitchen island, crossing my arms.
“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 turned pale as he flipped through the pages. “$75,000 a year? You’re quitting your job?!”
I shrugged. “How else am I supposed to follow your plan? I can’t work and be the perfect wife, right?”
He stared at the paper, dumbfounded.
The numbers, the absurdity of his own demands, it all hit him at once. His smugness evaporated, replaced by a dawning realization that he had seriously, seriously messed up.
“I… I didn’t mean…” Jake stammered, looking at me with wide eyes. “Lisa, I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I just thought —”
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