Marriage is about compromise – except in my house, where it’s apparently about me doing everything while my husband Todd takes all the credit. His 35th birthday became the final straw.
When Todd requested a “proper” birthday dinner for twenty, I threw myself into preparations. For two weeks, I cooked, cleaned, and organized after work while Todd played video games. The day of the party, our home sparkled, the table was set with care, and a beautiful meal was nearly ready.
Then Todd dropped his bombshell: He was going to a bar to watch the game instead. “Cancel everything,” he said casually, as if I hadn’t invested weeks of effort into his special day.
That’s when I decided if Todd wanted to celebrate at a bar, that’s exactly where his party would be. I packed every dish – from the hors d’oeuvres to the specially decorated cake – and drove to his sports bar. Setting up in the middle of the room, I announced to patrons that my husband had abandoned his birthday dinner, so we’d be sharing it with the whole bar.
The moment Todd turned from his beer to see me serving his birthday feast to strangers was priceless. His parents arrived to find their son’s fancy dinner being served in a dive bar. His friends couldn’t stop laughing. And the cake? I’d made sure to write “Happy birthday to my selfish husband” in bold icing.
Todd claimed I’d humiliated him. But the truth is, he humiliated himself by showing such disregard for my time and effort. In the weeks since, he’s been unusually helpful around the house. Maybe now he understands that marriage is a partnership, not a free catering service.