I couldn’t believe my eyes when Jake handed me the schedule. “This is to help you become a better wife,” he said, his face serious. My jaw nearly hit the floor, but instead of losing my temper, I decided to play along. Little did he know, I was about to teach him a lesson that would make him rethink his new approach to marriage.

I had always been the level-headed one in our relationship. Jake, bless him, was the type who could get caught up in things easily—whether it was a new hobby, or some random YouTube video promising to change his life in three easy steps. But up until now, we had been solid. That was, until Jake met Steve.

Steve was one of those guys who believed that being loud and opinionated made him right. He didn’t hesitate to talk over anyone who disagreed with him, especially when he was handing out unsolicited advice. And of course, Steve was perpetually single, despite his endless wisdom on relationships. For some reason, my husband seemed to think Steve’s confidence made him an expert.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. That was until Jake started repeating some of Steve’s “wisdom” around the house.

“Steve says relationships work best when the wife takes charge of the household,” Jake would say with a half-smile.

Or “Steve thinks it’s really important for women to look good for their husbands, even after years of marriage.”

I’d roll my eyes and mutter something sarcastic under my breath, but it was starting to get under my skin. Jake was changing in small, annoying ways. He started raising his eyebrows when I ordered takeout instead of cooking from scratch. He’d sigh when I let the laundry pile up, as though it were somehow an offense to his well-being. After all, I had a full-time job too, right?

Then, one night, the unthinkable happened. Jake 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 said, 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, completely unaware of the storm he was about to unleash. “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. “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife” was written in bold letters at the top. This wasn’t a joke. My husband had actually sat down and planned out my entire week, all based on what Steve, a single guy with zero relationship experience, thought would make me “better.”

According to Jake, I was supposed to wake up at 5 a.m. every day and make him a gourmet breakfast. Then I was to hit the gym for an hour to “stay in shape.” After that, a lovely parade of chores—cleaning, laundry, ironing—all before I left for my full-time job. And when I came home, I was expected to cook from scratch every night and make fancy snacks for Jake and his friends when they hung out at our place.

I couldn’t believe it. This list was not just sexist—it was insulting. I stared at it, trying to understand how my husband had lost his mind.

“This will be great for you, and us,” Jake continued, oblivious to the chaos brewing inside me. “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, but quickly recovered.

“Well, you know, from having some guidance and a schedule,” he said, clearly unaware of the depth of his mistake.

I wanted to throw that paper in his face and ask if he was out of his mind. 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, and I almost felt bad for him as I stood up and stuck the list on the fridge. Almost. He had no idea what was about to hit him.

The next day, as I sat down with my coffee, I couldn’t help but grin as I looked at the ridiculous list again. If Jake thought he could hand me a schedule of “improvements,” he was about to get a taste of what it would really take to live up to his idea of perfection. I opened up my laptop and started a new document. I 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 everything Jake had suggested for me—starting with the gym membership. It was laughable.

“$1,200 for a personal trainer,” I typed, barely holding back my laughter.

Then, came the food. If Jake thought he was going to eat like a king on our current grocery budget, he was in for a shock.

“$700 per month for groceries,” I wrote. Organic, non-GMO, free-range everything? It didn’t come cheap.

I leaned back in my chair, giggling as I imagined Jake’s face when he saw this. But I wasn’t done. Oh no, the best part was still coming.

See, I worked full-time, and there was no way I could juggle this absurd schedule and keep my job. If Jake wanted me to follow his plan, he’d have to compensate for the loss of my salary. I pulled up a calculator and figured out how much I made, adding it to the list with a note: “$75,000 per year to replace Lisa’s salary since she will now be your full-time personal assistant, maid, and chef.”

At this point, I was laughing so hard, I could barely breathe. Just for fun, I added a suggestion about him needing to build a “man cave” so his friends wouldn’t disturb my newly 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 finished, the list was a masterpiece—a financial and logistical nightmare, but a masterpiece. 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 walked in that evening, I could see he was in a good mood.

“Hey, babe,” he said, dropping his keys on the counter. Then, his eyes landed on the paper. “What’s this?”

I kept my face neutral, fighting the urge to burst out laughing. “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 joke. But as he scanned the first few lines, his grin started to fade. I could see the realization dawning on him—this wasn’t a joke. He was in deep trouble.

“Wait… what is all this?” he said, his voice faltering. “$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?”

Jake’s 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?”

Jake stared at the paper, dumbfounded. The absurdity of his own demands hit him all at once. His smugness evaporated, replaced by a dawning understanding that he had seriously messed up.

“I… I didn’t mean…” he stammered. “Lisa, 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?”

Jake looked horrified as my words sank in. “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.”

Jake smiled weakly, the tension easing 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.

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