How I Got My Husband Out of His Hour-Long Baths and Into Real Life
Hey, friends! You seriously won’t believe what happened to me last week. I’ve got a story that’ll make you laugh, shake your head, and maybe even clap for me.
Let me introduce you to my husband, Adam. Now, Adam has this ridiculous habit: every single morning, without fail, he takes an hour-long bath. Yes. An hour. Who even has time for that? Every. Single. Morning. While I’m running around like a madwoman trying to get the kids dressed, fed, and out the door for school, Adam is soaking like he’s at a luxury spa.
I’ve told him so many times, “Babe, your bath thing is getting out of hand.” But nope. He always says the same thing, all calm and dreamy:
“It’s my sacred escape. From the kids… and honestly, from you too.”
Can you believe that? He actually said that to my face one morning—on the worst possible day.
I had a huge job interview that day. I needed help with the kids, like just fifteen minutes of backup. But nope. He stood there, wrapped in his towel, looked me in the eye, and said:
“Sweetie, my bath is my sacred escape from the chaos. You can handle things for an hour, can’t you?”
And then he just strolled into the bathroom, humming, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like it was my job to do everything, all the time.
That’s when something inside me snapped.
I was already late, the kids were yelling, someone couldn’t find their shoes, someone else spilled juice on my blouse, and I was holding it all together by the tiniest thread.
“You wanna play games, Adam? Let’s play,” I muttered under my breath as I loaded the kids into the car.
By the time I got to the interview, my hair was a mess, there was dried cereal on my sleeve, and I was sweating through my shirt. I was late, flustered, and barely able to focus. They took one look at me and said, “Thanks for coming,” with that fake smile. I didn’t even get a chance to speak. They practically shoved me out the door.
Driving home, all I could think about was Adam’s smug little smirk. “You can handle things for an hour, can’t you?” That sentence was stuck in my head like an annoying song you can’t stop humming.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling, steam coming out of my ears. And then, an idea started to take shape. Oh yes, a beautiful, sparkly idea for revenge. I knew every step of Adam’s bath routine—his fancy oils, his zen music, his dumb little candles. He treated it like a religious ceremony.
Well. I was about to crash the church of bath time.
Phase One: The Slippery Start
The next morning, I got up early—like before the sun early. I swapped his expensive lavender bath oil with baby oil. The kind that turns your skin into a slippery seal. Then I changed his relaxing playlist to the kids’ loudest, most chaotic songs—think “I Like to Move It” on loop. And just to top it off? I adjusted the hot water valve so his bath would be lukewarm at best.
As he walked toward the bathroom, he gave me that annoying wink and said, “Enjoy your hour, honey.”
Oh, I would.
I stood near the door, listening. First came the thud as he slipped. Then, “SON OF A—” followed by the sound of the kids’ music blaring at full volume. And finally, the shout:
“WHY IS THE WATER COLD?!”
Adam stumbled out, dripping and fuming.
“What the hell happened in there?” he yelled, rubbing his shoulder and looking totally miserable.
I just smiled sweetly. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the universe telling you that partnership matters.”
He didn’t say a word. Just stomped off to get dressed.
Phase Two: Glitter Bomb Glory
But he didn’t change. Nope. He kept taking his precious baths—just a little more cautiously. So I knew I had to go bigger.
The next week, I found the perfect prank online: glitter bath bombs. They looked normal but exploded into a galaxy of sparkle.
He plopped one in without thinking. Boom. Glitter everywhere. I heard him shriek, “WHAT THE—?!” and the sound of furious splashing.
He came out looking like a disco ball, pink cheeks, sparkling eyebrows, and all.
“Why the hell is there glitter in my ears??” he growled, brushing at his arms.
I couldn’t stop laughing. “Just thought you needed some extra shine in your life, sweetie!”
He scrubbed the tub for two hours. And even days later, he’d randomly find glitter in his socks or beard. Still, the man would not give up his baths.
Phase Three: The Pirate Invasion
Okay, fine. I had more where that came from.
This time, I got the kids involved. We gathered rubber ducks, toy boats, and even a floating plastic shark. We filled the tub with cold water and set up a recording of a pirate battle—cannon blasts, sword fights, dramatic music—the works.
Next morning, Adam went in as usual.
SPLASH.
“AAAAHHHH! WHY IS IT COLD?!” he shouted. Then came the sound of crashing and plastic toys flying.
And then—BOOM! “YO-HO-HO AND A BOTTLE OF—”
He came out sopping wet, slipping on his own towel, and looked around in horror.
“WHAT IS GOING ON IN THIS HOUSE?!”
I crossed my arms and said calmly, “That’s the sound of a mother not getting any help in the mornings.”
The kids giggled from the hallway. I think one of them even saluted him with a “Yarr, Captain!”
Phase Four: Fake Emergency Chaos
Still… still he took his baths. So I pulled out the ultimate move.
The next morning, just as Adam was headed to the bathroom, I screamed, “THE KIDS ARE LOCKED IN THE GARAGE!!”
He dropped his towel and bolted, only to find the kids sitting inside, eating snacks and watching cartoons.
While he stood there confused, I ran into the bathroom and installed a motion sensor that blasted an air horn when someone stepped into the tub.
Ten minutes later—BLAAAARRRRGH!
“WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?!”
He stormed into the kitchen, hair wet, heart pounding, furious.
I just sipped my coffee and said, “Welcome to my world, Adam.”
I finally sat him down and said seriously, “This isn’t just about baths. It’s about being in this together. I need your help. I’m not your assistant—I’m your partner.”
That was the moment I saw something shift in him. He blinked. He got it.
He started helping. Not just little things—he actually started getting the kids ready, packing lunches, even ironing his own shirts. He cut his bath time down to thirty minutes. Progress!
Final Phase: The Neon Pink Surprise
But just to make sure the lesson really stuck…
I saved the grand finale. One night, I swapped out his shampoo with a harmless but shocking neon pink dye that would wash out in a few days.
The next morning, we heard the loudest scream:
“VIENNA!!! WHAT HAPPENED TO MY HAIR?!?!”
He came out of the bathroom looking like a walking highlighter, water still dripping off his neon head.
The kids collapsed in laughter. I nearly fell off my chair.
I grinned and said, “Now we’re even.”
These days? Adam’s a new man. He helps with everything, takes quick showers, and no longer treats bath time like a religious experience. As for me?
I declare myself the undisputed queen of prank-powered justice.
Or as I like to call it:
The Nobel Prize in Chore Distribution.
Because sometimes, glitter and pirate noises are all you need to change a man’s ways.
Wanna hear about the time I got him to do laundry for a week with tiny clothes from the dollhouse? That’s a whole other story… 😏
