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.
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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 —”
“You thought what? That I could ‘improve’ myself like some project?” My voice was calm, but the hurt behind it was real. “Jake, marriage isn’t about lists or routines. It’s about respect. And if you ever try to ‘fix’ me like this again, you’ll be paying a hell of a lot more than what’s on that 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 whispered. “I didn’t realize how ridiculous it was. Steve made it sound sensible, but now I see it’s… it’s toxic. Oh God, I’ve been such a fool.”
I nodded, watching him carefully. “Yes, you have. Honestly, have you looked at Steve’s life? What makes you think he has the life experience to give you advice about marriage? Or anything else?”
The look on his face as my words hit home was priceless.
“You’re right. And he could never afford to live like this.” He slapped the list with the back of his hand. “He… he has no idea about the costs involved, or how demeaning this is. Oh, Lisa, I got carried away again, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but we’ll recover. Now, let’s tear that paper up and go back to being equals.”
He smiled weakly, the tension breaking just a little. “Yeah… let’s do that.”
We ripped up the list together, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like we were back on the same team.
Maybe this was what we needed, a reminder that marriage isn’t about one person being “better” than the other. It’s about being better together.
Dirty Elderly Lady Runs into a Gas Station on Rainy Night, Screaming for Help — Story of the Day
A woman walked for miles in the middle of a thunderstorm to save her husband, but when she arrived at the service station, the manager refused to help her.
It was a dark and stormy night… Tara Wilson stared out of the service station’s wide window at the pouring rain and sighed. Just then, a streak of lightning flashed across the sky and the sound of thunder split the night.
Night duty at a gas station wasn’t exactly the exciting job Tara had been dreaming of when she went to journalism school, but unfortunately, she’d had to leave college to support her ailing mother. What Tara didn’t know was that the dreary night was about to become a lot more exciting.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
Even as Tara thought about her life, a frail figure was stumbling towards her in the dark, almost bent double against the force of the wind and the driving train. Tara was almost asleep when a gasping voice interrupted her reverie. “Please, oh please…”
Tara, who was seated behind the service station’s counter, jumped to her feet. In front of her, dripping equal portions of rain and mud was an older woman. Her clothes were plastered with oil, dirt, and mud, and dark streaks of makeup ran down her face.
“Ma’am?” Tara gasped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in!”
The woman took another stumbling step forward and held on to the counter with desperate hands. “Please,” she gasped again, “I need your help…”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
“Oh I’ll just bet you do!” a harsh masculine voice interrupted. It was Tara’s boss, Mr. Anderson, the service station’s night manager who must have heard the woman enter from the back office where he spent his nights online on dubious sites.
Never deny a person in need of help.
“I’ve had enough of you derelicts walking in cadging hot food and coffee every time it rains.” Mr. Anderson snarled. “Get out!”
“Please,” the woman said in a calmer voice, and Tara noticed she had a sweet voice and an educated accent. “I need help, my phone is smashed…”
“Help?” sneered Mr. Anderson. “Did you drive here? Do you need gas? Or motor oil? Do you have money or a credit card?”
“No,” the woman said. “You don’t understand…”
“I understand you just fine.” the manager snarled. “Get out! No car and no money, you get nothing!”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
The woman pressed her shaking hands together. “My husband and I had a car accident, he’s lying unconscious on the road…All I ask is that you make a phone call!”
Tara made up her mind and stepped forward. “Ma’am, I’ll call 911 for you,” she said. She picked up the receiver of the service station’s landline and dialed. She frowned and picked up her cell phone then shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” she told the woman. “But the storm probably took down the phone lines and the cell tower. Where did you crash?”
The woman’s lips were trembling. “My poor John, oh my poor John…”
Tara came around the counter and put her arm around the woman’s sopping-wet shoulders. “Come on, Ma’am, I’ll drive you to him. We’ll take him to the hospital.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
The manager was enraged. “You most certainly will not!” he screamed. “You walk out that door and you’re fired!”
Tara looked at Mr. Anderson and said quietly. “Go ahead, fire me. But I won’t leave a man dying by the roadside.”
“Thank you, my dear,” cried the woman. “My husband is an influential man, you won’t regret this.”
“No matter who your husband is, I won’t regret it, Ma’am,” said Tara as she settled the woman into her car and buckled her seat belt. “My mother always taught us to help whenever we could, no matter who it is.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
With the woman’s guidance, Tara found the scene of the accident. The car was completely destroyed, and by the side of the road and covered with a blanket was an older man.
“John,” the woman cried kneeling by his side, “I’m here, darling, I found help!” The man opened his eyes and tried to speak, but he was obviously too weak. Tara and the woman managed to get him into her car’s backseat, and they drove to the hospital through the pouring rain.
As soon as the hospital’s staff had the man in hand, Tara asked them to take a look at the woman too, who was shivering from shock and exhaustion, then she allowed herself to sink into one of the waiting room chairs.
A while later, a tall young doctor came over and asked if she had been the one who’d brought the older couple over. “Yes,” Tara said. “Are they alright?”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
“Thanks to you!” said the doctor with a smile. “Mrs. Smythe told me what you did. Her husband had internal bleeding, and another half an hour would have been too late. We’re also treating Mrs. Smythe for shock and hypothermia.”
“Mrs. Smythe, that’s the lady’s name?” asked Tara. “And they are going to be alright?”
“Yes, you saved their lives,” said the doctor, casting Tara an admiring look. “You’re a hero!”
“No,” said Tara. “Mrs. Smythe is the hero. She walked five miles in the rain to get help for her husband, and she never gave up!”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
As it turned out, Mr. Smythe was the owner of the local TV station, and his news team told the story of how Tara lost her job to save two lives. Mr. Anderson was mentioned by name, and his boss fired him for casting the company in a bad light.
When Mr. Smythe discovered that Tara was a semester away from her journalism major, he hired her as a junior reporter. She was earning a lot more than she had at the service station and doing what she loved.
Rumor has it that Tra has been dating a handsome young doctor she met in an emergency room one dark and stormy night, and he might be on the verge of popping the question…
What can we learn from this story?
- Never deny a person in need of help. Mr. Anderson wanted to run Mrs. Smythe off because she was dirty and he thought she was poor and homeless and it ended up costing him his job.
- Life rewards the kindest hearts. Tara risked her job to help Mrs. Smythe but got the job of her dreams and met a wonderful man.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a man who discovers his youngest son isn’t his and keeps the secret his whole life.
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