You’d think that after six years of marriage, someone would have learned to appreciate, but Todd hasn’t.
What about Todd? He just walked into the living room carrying a beer cooler. That was it.
Everyone was praising the food and the décor after dinner, so Todd decided it was his moment to take all the credit.
He said, “I’m glad you all love it.” “This year, I wanted it to be extra special.”
Of course, he ignored me completely.
That pretty much sums up Todd. He expects praise without putting in any effort. It hit me that he was no longer the man I had once fallen in love with.
Then came his 35th birthday—the last straw.
Todd casually shared his plans with me over dinner.
He said, “Claire, this year, I want a big, fancy birthday dinner. Invite my friends, family, and everyone.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You want me to organize it?”
“Yes,” he said. “You’re good at this. Just make it decent. I don’t want to look foolish in front of everyone.”
“Decent?” I repeated.
“Yeah, but nothing over the top. Keep it elegant.”
Even though I didn’t want to, I gave him another chance. He didn’t deserve it, but it was his birthday, so I wanted it to be special.
For the next two weeks, I planned Todd’s “big, proper birthday dinner.” If classy was what he wanted, classy he would get.
Every day after work, I’d tie my hair up and dive into organizing, cleaning, and prepping. To make sure everyone had a seat, I even borrowed extra chairs and a folding table from our neighbor Janice.
And what did Todd do? Absolutely nothing.
One evening, he kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the couch, saying, “I’m swamped at work.” But darling, you’ve got this. You’re capable.
Capable? I could have cried because I was exhausted.
But instead, I smiled and said, “Yeah, I’ve got this,” rather than yelling.
Finally, the big day arrived.
Determined to make it perfect, I got up early.
The house was spotless. I’d handwritten name cards and matched the linens on the table. The cake was decorated with edible gold flakes, the main dishes were simmering, and the appetizers were cooling.
Yes, I really went all out.
Around lunchtime, Todd strolled into the kitchen and immediately started scrolling on his phone, barely glancing at the buffet I’d prepared.
He shut the fridge and said, “Looks good.” Then added, “But hey, don’t bother finishing all this. It’s no big deal.”
“What do you mean?”
Instead, he said the guys and he were heading to the bar to watch the game. Cancel everything and tell everyone something came up.
“You’re skipping your birthday dinner?” I asked. “I’ve been planning this for weeks, Todd!”
He waved it off. “Claire, it’s no big deal. Just call them and say we’re busy or something. They’ll understand.”
“Todd, you can’t do this!” I yelled, but he was already gone.
I was crushed. I’d put in all that time, money, and effort—and he just walked away like it meant nothing.
Cancel everything? After all I’d done?
But mostly, I felt humiliated.
How could he be so heartless? How could he dismiss everything I’d done?
The flickering candles seemed to mock me as I looked at the table.
Claire, is this really how much you’re worth? I asked myself. Will you let Todd treat you like this? No. No way.
I decided to keep the dinner going. I wasn’t going to let him ruin it.
Let Todd act like a spoiled kid if he wanted—but only after I showed him what “embarrassing” really meant. He had no idea who he was messing with.
I grabbed my phone and texted everyone:
The party’s still on! Plans changed. Meet us at the bar on Main Street near our house. Bring your appetite!
Then I got to work.
I packed all the food into the car and drove straight to the bar Todd had picked.
The place was buzzing when I arrived. I spotted Todd with his back to the door, sitting at a table with his friends. He didn’t even notice me.
The bartender saw me carrying food trays and asked, eyes wide, “Ma’am? Can I help you?”
I smiled sweetly. “Oh, I’m just here to eat with some folks who’ll appreciate it.”
I picked a table near the bar so Todd’s group could see me and started unpacking the dishes one by one. The smell caught everyone’s attention. Nearby customers craned their necks to watch.
One man pointed at the feast and asked, “What’s going on here?”
I spoke loud enough for all to hear: “This was supposed to be my husband’s birthday dinner. But he chose to come here instead, so I figured, why waste all this food?”
Laughter and whispers spread through the bar. Some even applauded.
At that moment, Todd turned around and saw me.
His friends whispered among themselves as he hurried over.
“Claire! What on earth are you doing?” His eyes darted nervously between me and the growing crowd.
I ignored him.
Instead, I said to the nearby patrons, “Want some ham? Help yourselves! Cake’s coming too.”
Just then, the front door swung open. Todd’s sister, cousins, parents, and my parents walked in.
They glanced at us, then the food, then at the crowd enjoying what was meant to be a formal dinner.
Todd’s mother, ever straightforward, approached him. “Todd, what’s going on? Why is Claire serving food in a bar when she asked to meet here for your birthday dinner?”
Todd looked like he wanted to disappear.
He whispered, “It’s complicated, Mom.”
“Oh, I wish I could explain,” I stepped in. “Todd asked me to prepare a dinner, but watching the game with his friends was more important. So I brought the food here.”
His dad shook his head. “How rude,” he murmured.
My mom picked up a platter and said, “Well, this smells amazing. Let’s eat!”
Soon, our families joined the other diners and enjoyed the meal I’d worked so hard to prepare.
Todd’s friends laughed at him, telling him they’d never forget this day.
By the time I brought out the cake, the bar felt like a full party. Bold letters on the cake read:
Happy Birthday to My Self-Centered Husband!
When I read it aloud, the bar erupted in laughter, but Todd was not amused.
“Claire, was this really necessary?” he muttered.
I smiled and tilted my head. “Absolutely.”
After everyone finished, I started packing up the empty trays. The bartender stopped me.
“Ma’am, you’re a legend. If you come back, drinks are on the house. Without him, of course!”
I laughed. “Thanks! I’ll be back.”
When the food was gone, families left quickly. Todd’s mom told him he could have done better, but my dad nodded approvingly.
Todd kept grumbling about being “humiliated” as we drove home, and even after we got there.
“You embarrassed me in front of everyone, Claire!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up.
“No, Todd,” I replied. “You embarrassed yourself. And just so you know, there won’t be another home-cooked dinner anytime soon.”
At that moment, he realized he couldn’t argue and stormed into the bedroom.
It’s been two weeks since that night, and I can tell you Todd has changed. Mostly.
His ridiculous demands have calmed down, and he’s been surprisingly polite—almost like he’s afraid I’ll pull a stunt like that again.