It was a quiet Thursday morning when David called his wife, Laura, from the office.
His voice, unusually upbeat, came through the phone:
“Honey, guess what? My boss just invited me to go on a weeklong fishing trip out of town! He says it’s a team-building thing. This could be a big chance for that promotion I’ve been eyeing. Can you pack my stuff, please?”
Laura raised an eyebrow. She’d been married to David long enough to recognize that tone — that slightly too-enthusiastic tone he used whenever he was trying to sound innocent. Still, she kept her voice even.
“Of course, dear. What should I pack?”
David didn’t hesitate.
“Enough clothes for a week, my fishing rod, tackle box, boots, and… oh, don’t forget my new blue silk pajamas. You know, the nice ones you got me for my birthday.”
There was a small pause. Blue silk pajamas — for a fishing trip? Laura’s instincts buzzed like an alarm. But she said nothing. Instead, she smiled to herself, the way only a wife who knows exactly what her husband is up to can smile.
“Got it,” she said sweetly. “I’ll make sure everything’s ready.”
That evening, she packed his suitcase — neatly folded shirts, extra socks, a few snacks — and carefully placed his fishing gear by the door. Then she took his shiny new blue silk pajamas, folded them lovingly… and tucked them deep inside his tackle box, right between the lures and the spare fishing line.
A week later, David returned home. He looked sun-kissed, a little tired, and very pleased with himself — the expression of a man who’d had a good “fishing trip.”
Laura met him at the door, smiling warmly.
“Welcome home! How was it? Did you catch anything?”
David puffed out his chest.
“Oh, yes! It was incredible. Caught plenty of salmon, a few bluegills, even a couple of swordfish. My boss was impressed — it was one of the best trips ever.”
He grinned, then frowned slightly.
“By the way… I was looking for my blue silk pajamas all week. You didn’t forget to pack them, did you?”
Laura tilted her head, her smile widening into something dangerous.
“Forget them? Oh, no, dear. I packed them.”
David blinked.
“Really? I couldn’t find them anywhere!”
Laura turned to walk away, pausing only long enough to drop the punchline like a well-aimed lure:
“That’s strange,” she said, looking back over her shoulder.
“I put them right where you’d find them — in your fishing box.”
The silence that followed was priceless.
Story 2: The Doctor, the Lawyer, and the Lesson in Revenge
It was one of those bustling weekend cocktail parties — music humming in the background, glasses clinking, people talking over one another.
In a corner of the room stood two old college friends: Dr. Mitchell Carter, a respected physician, and James Harper, a sharp-tongued corporate lawyer.
Mitchell had come hoping for one relaxing evening — no patients, no emergencies, no beeping pagers. But fate had other plans.
Barely five minutes into the party, a woman tapped him on the shoulder.
“Doctor, sorry to bother you, but could you take a quick look at this rash on my arm?”
He forced a polite smile.
“Sure… looks like an allergic reaction. Maybe stay away from shellfish.”
Before he could take a sip of his drink, another guest leaned in.
“Hey Doc, my back’s been k.i.l.ling me for weeks. Any tips?”
Mitchell’s smile faltered.
“Try stretching, maybe see a chiropractor if it doesn’t improve.”
He barely had time to breathe before yet another person cornered him with a serious face.
“Dr. Carter, I have this mole that looks weird. Should I worry?”
He sighed inwardly. So much for relaxation. The entire evening turned into an impromptu free clinic — guests rolling up sleeves, pointing to random body parts, asking for instant diagnoses while munching on hors d’oeuvres.
After an hour of this, Mitchell finally escaped to the balcony, where he found his friend James sipping a martini, perfectly calm and amused.
“James,” Mitchell groaned, “how do you deal with people asking for free legal advice at parties? Doesn’t it drive you insane?”
The lawyer chuckled.
“Not at all. I handle it very simply.”
“How?” Mitchell asked, leaning forward, desperate for the secret.
James smirked.
“I give them the advice they want… and then I mail them a bill.”
Mitchell blinked.
“You’re joking.”
James raised an eyebrow.
“Not even a little. You’d be surprised how quickly people stop asking after that.”
Mitchell laughed, shaking his head. But as the night went on — and yet another person asked him if snoring was normal — he began to think James might be onto something.
The next morning, inspired and slightly petty, Dr. Carter sat at his desk and wrote out small invoices to everyone who had cornered him at the party.
He itemized each one carefully:
“Rash diagnosis: $45”
“Back pain consultation: $60”
“Mole evaluation: $50”
He even signed them with professional flair: Dr. Mitchell Carter, MD.
Feeling oddly satisfied, he sealed the envelopes and walked out to the mailbox to send them off.
But when he opened the lid, something unexpected was waiting inside.
A single white envelope.
He frowned, pulled it out, and recognized the handwriting immediately.
Inside was a neatly printed bill — from James Harper, Attorney at Law.
“Consultation fee: $150 — advice on how to handle free requests outside work.”
Mitchell burst out laughing right there on the sidewalk.
He had to admit — the lawyer had beaten him at his own game.
Moral of the stories:
Never underestimate a suspicious wife.
And never challenge a lawyer when it comes to billing.