I’ve always taken pleasure in being the level-headed one in our marriage. Jake, bless his heart, could get caught up in things quickly, whether it was a new pastime or a random YouTube video that claimed to improve his life in three simple steps.
But we were good until Jake met Steve. Steve was the sort of man who felt being noisily opinionated made him right, and he spoke right over you when you tried to correct him.
He was also a constantly single person (who would have guessed?) who generously gave relationship advise to all of his married coworkers, including Jake. Jake should have known better, but my beautiful hubby was completely taken by Steve’s confidence.
I didn’t think much of it until Jake made some offensive remarks.
“Steve says relationships work best when the wife takes charge of the household,” he’d tell me. Finally, “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 respond with some caustic comment, but it was getting on my nerves. Jake was changing. He’d raise an eyebrow if I bought takeout instead of cooking, and sigh if I let the laundry pile up because, God forbid, I had my own full-time work.
Then it occurred. One night, he returned home with The List.
He sat me down at the kitchen table, unfolded a piece of paper, and passed it to me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he began, his tone condescending, unlike anything I’d heard from him before. “You’re an excellent wife, Lisa. But there is opportunity for improvement.”
My eyebrows rose. “Oh really?”
He nodded, unaware of the hazardous zone he was approaching. “Yeah. Steve made me see that our marriage could be even better if you, you know, stepped up a little.”
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 person had literally sat down and planned out my whole week based on what Steve, a single man with little marital experience, believed I should do to “improve” myself as a wife.
I was meant to get up at 5 a.m. every day to prepare Jake’s gourmet breakfast. Then I would go to the gym for an hour to “stay in shape.”
What happens after that? A nice list of chores: cleaning, laundry, and ironing. And this was all before I went for work. Every evening, I was expected to cook a meal from scratch and prepare gourmet snacks for Jake and his buddies who came over to hang out at our house.
The entire situation was unfair and offensive on so many levels that I didn’t know where to begin. I found myself looking 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 interjected with a dangerously calm voice. Jake blinked, surprised at the interruption, but soon recovered.
“Well, you know, from having some guidance and a schedule.”
I wanted to toss the document in his face and ask if he had a d3ath wish. Instead, I astonished myself: I grinned.
“You’re right, Jake,” I said pleasantly. “I’m very grateful that you created me this timetable. “I will start tomorrow.”
The relief on his face was immediate. I almost felt terrible for him as I got up and put the list on the fridge. Almost. He had no clue what was about to happen.
The next day, I couldn’t help but chuckle as I re-read the absurd itinerary. If Jake believed he could deliver me a list of “improvements,” he was about to discover how much structure our lives could withstand.
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 started by detailing everything he had proposed for me, beginning with the gym membership he was so enthusiastic about. It was pretty funny.
“$1,200 for a personal trainer.” I typed, barely suppressing a chuckle.
Then came the meal. Jake’s desire to eat like a king was not feasible given our existing food budget. Organic, non-GMO, and free-range everything? That material wasn’t inexpensive.
“$700 per month for groceries,” I wrote. He’d probably have to pitch in for a culinary lesson as well. Those were expensive, but perfection isn’t free.
I sat back in my chair, chuckling as I imagined Jake’s reaction when he saw this. But I wasn’t finished. Oh no, the pièce de résistance was still to arrive.
See, there was no way I could manage all of these obligations while keeping my job. If Jake wanted me to devote myself full-time to his ludicrous routine, he’d have to pay for the loss of my earnings.
I used a calculator to estimate the worth of my pay. Then I added it to the list, along with the following 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 by this point.
And, just for good measure, I said that he should enlarge the house. After all, if he was going to have his pals around on a regular basis, they’d need a designated location that wouldn’t interfere with my newly arranged, ridiculously regimented existence.
“$50,000 to build a separate ‘man cave’ so Jake and his friends don’t disrupt Lisa’s schedule.”
By the time I finished, the list was a masterpiece. A financial and logistical headache, indeed, but a masterpiece nevertheless. It was more than simply 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.
He shouted out, “Hey, babe,” and dropped his keys on the counter. He found the paper nearly quickly. “What’s this?”
I kept my expression calm, resisting the impulse to chuckle as I watched him pick it up. “Oh, it’s just a little list I put together for you,” I added affectionately, “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?”
“So, you want me to get up at 5 a.m., go to the gym, prepare gourmet breakfasts, clean the house, cook supper, and entertain your friends. I believe we should budget for all of it.
His face became pale as he flipped over the pages. “$75,000 per year?” “You are quitting your job?”
I shrugged. “How else can I follow your plan? I can’t work and be a wonderful wife, right?
He gazed at the article, astounded.
The figures, the folly of his own demands—it all hit him at once. His smugness vanished, replaced by the growing sense that he had badly messed up.
“I… I didn’t mean…” Jake stuttered and stared at me with wide eyes. “Lisa, I didn’t want for it to be like this. “I just thought—”
“What did you think?” Could I ‘upgrade’ myself like a project?” My voice was cool, but the pain behind it was genuine. “Jake, marriage is not about lists or procedures. It’s about respect. And if you ever attempt to ‘fix’ me like this again, you’ll have to pay a lot more than what’s on the paper.”
Silence hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Jake’s face softened, his shoulders slumping as he let out a deep sigh.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I hadn’t realized how stupid that was. Steve made it seem reasonable, but I now realize it’s… It’s poisonous. “Oh God, I’ve been such a fool.”
I nodded and watched him closely. “Yes, you did. Have you honestly looked into Steve’s life? What makes you believe he has enough life experience to give you marital advice? “Or anything else?”
The expression on his face when my comments struck home was priceless.
“You’re correct. And he couldn’t afford to live like this. He smacked the list with his rear hand. “He… has no concept what the expenses are or how degrading this is. “Oh, Lisa, did I get carried away again?”
“Yes, but we will recover. Now, let us tear up that document and return to being equals.
He grinned faintly, the strain loosening just little. “Yeah… let’s do that.”
We shredded through the list together, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like we were back on the same page.
Perhaps this was what we needed—a reminder that marriage isn’t about one person being “better” than the other. It all comes down to working together to be better.
