Jake, my husband, came home one evening with a “plan” to help me become a better wife. I was stunned. Still, I didn’t argue. I nodded, smiled, and agreed to follow it. What Jake didn’t realize was that he had just handed me the perfect opportunity to teach him a lesson he would never forget—a lesson about marriage, respect, and reality.
I’ve always prided myself on being the calm one in our relationship. Jake, on the other hand, had a tendency to get swept up in trends—random hobbies, online videos claiming life transformation in three steps, or the latest podcast preaching a new lifestyle.
We had weathered it all—until Jake met Steve.
Steve was the kind of guy who treated opinions like facts. Loud, overbearing, and convinced he was always right. He had an answer for everything, even if it didn’t make sense, and he was always interrupting others to prove his point. Despite being single, Steve generously handed out relationship advice to his married coworkers—Jake included.
And for some reason, Jake listened.
At first, I ignored the comments. But then Jake began parroting Steve’s views out loud.
“Steve says a wife should run the household.”
“Steve believes wives should always look good for their husbands, no matter how long they’ve been married.”
I’d roll my eyes and shoot back with a sarcastic remark. But things changed. Jake started scrutinizing me. If I brought home takeout instead of cooking, he’d raise an eyebrow. If I didn’t do laundry because of work, he’d sigh heavily. My laid-back husband was suddenly full of judgment.
Then, it happened.
He came home with a piece of paper and laid it on the kitchen table like it was some corporate agenda. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, in a tone that carried more arrogance than concern. “You’re a great wife, Lisa. But I think there’s room for improvement.”
I blinked. “Really?”
He nodded seriously, unaware he was walking into dangerous territory. “Steve showed me how structure can make a marriage thrive. I made a plan for you.”
At the top of the paper, in bold letters, he had written:
Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife
It was ridiculous. A full-blown schedule based on advice from Steve, the eternally single man. Wake up at 5 a.m., make a full breakfast, go to the gym, deep-clean the house, do all the laundry, prep dinner from scratch—every night. Add snacks for his friends when they dropped by. All this before my own job.
I stared at the paper. Then I stared at my husband. He actually believed this was helpful.
“This will be good for both of us,” he added, oblivious.
“Steve says discipline creates peace, and I think you’d really benefit from—”
“Benefit from what?” I cut in calmly.
He paused, thrown off. “You know, from having a little direction.”
I wanted to throw the paper in his face. Instead, I smiled. “You’re right. I’m so lucky to have you guiding me. I’ll start tomorrow.”
His face lit up. I stuck the list on the fridge and almost pitied him. Almost.
The next morning, I reread the ridiculous routine and got to work—on my own list.
On my laptop, I created a new document:
Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever
If I was to become the perfect wife, he was going to become the perfect husband—and it would cost him.
He wanted me in the gym? Great. “$1,200 for a personal trainer,” I typed.
His taste in food? “$700 monthly for organic, non-GMO, free-range groceries.” Plus, cooking classes. Excellence wasn’t free.
Then came my job. If I was to quit working and take care of everything, he’d need to compensate.
“$75,000 annually to replace Lisa’s salary since she is now your full-time housekeeper, chef, and hostess.”
I grinned. But I wasn’t done.
Since his friends would now be regulars at our home, they’d need their own space. “$50,000 to build a private man cave, separate from Lisa’s newly streamlined domestic sanctuary.”
When I was done, the list was pure genius. Hilarious, devastatingly expensive, and impossible to justify. I printed it and placed it on the counter.
That evening, Jake came home whistling. “Hey babe!” he called out, dropping his keys.
He spotted the paper. “What’s this?”
I kept my face neutral. “Just a little something to help you become the best husband ever.”
He chuckled—until he started reading. His grin faded with each line. He blinked. “$1,200 for a trainer? $700 for groceries? Wait, what is this?”
I leaned on the kitchen island. “I thought you wanted structure. You expect me to follow that schedule? Seems fair to set a budget.”
He flipped through the pages. “$75,000? You’re quitting your job?!”
I shrugged. “How else could I possibly fulfill your plan? I can’t be superwoman and an employee, right?”
Jake looked completely dazed.
He scanned the rest of the costs, and his face slowly turned pale. He realized how insane his “plan” had been.
“I… I didn’t mean…” he stammered. “Lisa, I didn’t think it would go like this. I thought—”
“What exactly did you think?” My voice was calm but firm. “That you could mold me into your fantasy version of a wife? Jake, a marriage isn’t about one partner fixing the other. It’s about respect. You try to ‘improve’ me like this again, and the cost won’t just be financial.”
There was a long, quiet moment. Jake looked down, ashamed.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t see how toxic this was. Steve… he made it sound logical, but now it just feels… humiliating. I was an idiot.”
I tilted my head. “Exactly. And maybe next time, think twice before taking advice from someone who’s never had a successful relationship.”
The lightbulb finally went off in his eyes. “You’re right. Steve doesn’t understand what marriage really is. I… I screwed up.”
I softened slightly. “Yes. But we can fix it. Let’s tear these lists up and start over. As equals.”
He managed a small smile. “I’d like that.”
As we shredded both lists, I felt the tension melt. For the first time in weeks, we were on the same team again.
Sometimes, marriage isn’t about being “better.” It’s about being better together.