My Husband Made a Schedule to ‘Improve’ Me as a Wife — I Taught Him a Valuable Lesson Instead

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.

My Mom Thought No Man Was Good Enough for Me Until One Invited Her on a Date — Story of the Day

At 37, I thought I could finally date in peace until my Mom crashed dinner with a list of rules… and somehow ended up on a date with my boyfriend.

I always knew I had a mom. But sometimes, it felt like my mom was my whole life. I was 37, but that didn’t stop her from asking me every single day:

“Are you wearing warm socks?” or “Are you sure he looked at you with respect and not… interest?”

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

I worked in a museum, adored art history, lived in my own apartment, had a bank account, and had two degrees… Yet every time I saw “Mom calling” on my phone, I instinctively straightened my posture.

She controlled everything. From when I should go to bed to what color I painted my nails.

Once, I ordered salmon delivery, and 20 minutes later, she called.

“I saw him go into your house. Was that him?”

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“Mom, are you spying on my house?”

“I just sat in the car nearby. In case of suspicious movement.”

She had binoculars. And a notebook. She called it “just in case.”

As a child, it was cute. At 20, it got annoying. By 30, I began to question our “normal.”

At 37, I met Theo.

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For the first time in my life, I didn’t tell her right away.

It was my first grown-up secret. And, of course, it lasted exactly three days. Until Mom ruined everything.

But I’ll tell you that in a moment.

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***

I was preparing for my dinner with Theo. I baked a pie I found online, not from Mom’s sacred recipe book.

Even if it came out a bit burnt and the chicken was a little dry — those were my mistakes. My life.

I could already imagine my mother’s face if she saw the meal — a guaranteed explosion. I smiled quietly to myself while checking the candles.

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A week earlier, she declared, “I want to meet him. In person. At my house. At the table. With my questions.”

“Mom, let me be an adult for once. I’ll decide when to introduce you.”

She backed off for once. It felt odd, but I didn’t think much of it. Big mistake.

That night, Theo came over for the first time. He brought tulips, non-alcoholic wine (knowing I was tired after work), and a cake from the bakery I always visit during lunch.

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“I just wanted to get everything right,” he smiled, setting the plates.

“Theo, with you, it always feels right.”

Something warm and calm bloomed in my chest. We talked for hours. Laughed. Dreamed.

“Imagine… a little house by an old lighthouse,” he said.

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“And in the basement — an archive of old love letters.”

“You’d preserve them, and I’d write new ones.”

Candles were burning low. Music hummed softly. He touched my hand.

“I thought after all the heartbreaks, nothing would ever happen again. And then you came along…”

And at that exact moment…

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“ACHOO!”

From the closet. We froze.

“You’re not alone?” Theo shot me a look.

I got up. Opened the closet.

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“Mooom?!”

She sat in the dark. With a headlamp. And a thermos.

“What… what are you doing?!”

“Oh, hi! I was just checking if you’re storing things in your closet without lavender,” she mumbled, not even trying to sound convincing.

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“You broke into my apartment?!”

“I was just making sure. Listening. Evaluating. I didn’t interfere!”

Theo, somehow, still managed to smile politely.

“Good evening. I’m Theo. Very nice to meet you.”

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“Theo. Short. Like most male patients,” Mom said, sitting on the couch. “Sit. Let’s get to know each other.”

I wanted to run. But Theo sat down. Bravely.

And the interrogation began.

“Do you have a job?”

“Yes. I teach literature…”

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“Do you work 9 to 5?”

“Flexible hours.”

“So, no structure. Got it. Do you drink alcohol?”

“A glass of wine, sometimes…”

“Sometimes means regularly.”

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“Mom…”

“Quiet, Eliza. I’m asking.”

Then she turned back to him again, “How many women before my daughter?”

“I… excuse me?”

“Are you deaf?”

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“No, I just think that’s a bit…”

“You should always think. Before approaching a woman with serious intentions.”

Theo looked at me. As if to ask, “Is this a joke?”

I tried to say with my eyes, “No. This is my life.”

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Mom stood up. “Now, a test.”

“What?” we both said.

“Wipe the table. With a sponge. No streaks. If there’s even one mark — you’re not for her.”

“Mom, enough!”

I was desperate and angry. But to my greatest surprise…

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Theo stood up, went to the kitchen, found the sponge… and wiped. It was perfect. She checked the surface and ran her finger across.

“Hmm. Survived. For now.”

Then, Mom dramatically handed Theo a paper. He smiled while skimming it, then slowly, he frowned before handing it to me.

“I think I should go. I’ll call you.”

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He left. Just like that. I finally looked down at the letters she wrote in thick black marker.

RULES FOR DATING MY DAUGTER

1. Have a job.

2. Understand I don’t like you.

3. I am EVERYWHERE.

4. You make HER cry — I make YOU cry.

5. Be home 30 min early.

6. SHE is my PRINCESS. Not your conquest.

7. I don’t mind going to jail.

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Daugter. With a typo. That said it all.

“Mom, it’s time for you to go.”

“Oh, sweetie, if he leaves at the first sign of trouble, is he even a man?”

“He didn’t leave me. He said he’d call.”

“Same thing.”

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“Maybe he just didn’t enjoy being around you?”

“You’re overreacting.”

“You crossed the line, Mom! Please, leave. I want to be alone.”

Mom’s words echoed in my head.

Has Theo really left… forever?

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***

Three days passed. No texts. No calls. I caved and sent him a short message:

“I’m sorry for how everything went. You didn’t deserve that.”

Seen. No reply.

And then — a knock at the door. I opened it, my heart racing. It was him and he was there with flowers.

“Come on. I’ve planned a date… for you and your Mom.”

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I blinked. “What?”

“Just trust me.”

We picked up my Mom. She barely got in the car before starting her usual commentary.

“Where are we going? I have to defrost the freezer!”

“Surprise,” Theo smiled.

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The first stop? His lecture.

Mom and I sat in the back. Theo stood in front of a class full of students, talking about love in literature.

“To be with someone doesn’t always feel poetic. But it’s always worth it.”

“Oh, I might fall asleep here,” Mom whispered.

“Mom. Shhh.”

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“If he’s trying to seduce us both with lectures — he failed.”

I gave her a look. But I held on. I knew this wasn’t all Theo had planned.

Next stop — a boat ride. On the lake, with a plaid blanket, strawberries, and tea in a thermos. (Yes, the exact tea Mom liked. He remembered.)

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“Yet another romantic coma,” Mom muttered, but this time, she was chuckling.

As we floated, Theo turned to her gently.

“So, Barbara. What are your hobbies?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Hobbies? Suspicion. Avoiding scams. Crosswords when I can’t sleep.”

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“I bet you’re good at them.”

“I once found three typos in The New York Times. Sent them a letter. And you didn’t find one.”

“You planted that typo?”

“Of course, sweetie — it was a test for your Theo.”

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“A test? For spelling? Mom, he’s a university professor!”

“No, more like a test for politeness,” she smirked. “He passed.”

Then she leaned to move closer to the edge… and slipped.

SPLASH.

She fell right into the water. I gasped. Then, she laughed so hard I nearly joined her.

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“YOU LAUGHING? I COULD DROWN!”

Theo jumped in without hesitation. Swam straight to her, helped her out, and wrapped her in a blanket. Soaked, shivering, furious — but secretly touched. Back on land, she was about to stomp away.

“I need to go home. I’m done.”

Theo calmly said, “There’s a sports store nearby. Time for a wardrobe refresh.”

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He disappeared. Came back ten minutes later with two matching athletic outfits. One for me. One for Mom. She held hers suspiciously.

“How did you guess my size?”

“Easy. You’re built perfectly for a Medium. Athletic and classic.”

She smiled. Barely. Quietly. But I saw it. She loved attention.

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We changed. And then — the climbing wall.

“Last challenge, I promise,” Theo grinned. “Climbing wall. One climbs, the other keeps the rope. Trust exercise.”

“Oh no. I’m 60!”

“Exactly. Perfect age for adventure.”

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To my absolute shock, Mom went first. Halfway up, she shouted:

“THEO! IF I FALL — I’M HAUNTING YOU!”

She didn’t fall. She reached the top. And when she came down, her eyes were gleaming.

“Okay, professor. Not bad.”

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“To end the day,” Theo said, “I’d like to make you both dinner. My place.”

Mom looked at me. “I have no choice. I need to see where this man lives. Maybe I’ll discover his secret lair.”

***

Theo’s house was beautiful. Clean. Warm. It smelled like citrus and cedar. I’d never been there before. And I was stunned.

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“Did you buy this on a teacher’s salary or rob a bank?” Mom asked, peeking into the kitchen.

“Started saving in high school. Plus I teach online courses on the side. Hard work pays off.”

“Well, look at you,” she muttered. Then, louder, “Does the fridge clean itself, or are you just this weird?”

Theo just laughed.

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We sat on the terrace. Theo grilled steaks nearby while the sun dipped low. Mom leaned back. Actually relaxed.

“You know… he’s not so bad, honey.”

“Really? Wow. Mom, you’re on fire today.”

“I was too distrustful. Because your father left. And I didn’t want you to get burned like I did.”

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“But Mom, it’s my life. I need to make my own mistakes. Walk my own path.”

“Theo is wonderful. It’s obvious he loves you. I mean, he jumped in a lake to save his future mother-in-law.”

We both laughed.

“And he could’ve dropped me on that climbing wall. But he didn’t. That’s some nerve control.”

Theo joined us, carrying two plates.

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“Hungry?”

“Always,” Mom said.

“Even for this? Because I have one more course.”

Theo knelt on one knee.

“Eliza, these past three months have been the best of my life. You’ve brought color back into everything. And your mom… we’re friends now.”

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“Almost,” Mom added.

“Not even the rule list could scare me away. I want to share my home, my life… all of it. And yes, even see your mom — but no more than twice a week.”

He laughed. I gasped.