After six years of marriage, I thought Todd would’ve learned some gratitude. But at a family dinner, he took full credit for everything I planned. That’s Todd—wants the praise, does none of the work.
Then came his 35th birthday. He wanted an “elegant” dinner with friends and family, and, of course, expected me to plan it.
I spent two exhausting weeks preparing everything—cooking, cleaning, setting the table with handwritten name cards and gold-dusted cake. Todd? He sat on the couch and said, “You’re good at these things.”
But on the big day, just hours before guests were to arrive, he casually said, “Cancel it. I’m going to the bar to watch the game with the guys.”
I was stunned. Furious. But instead of canceling, I made a new plan.
I packed all the food and headed to the bar where he was watching the game. I set everything up right there—roast, appetizers, the cake—and texted all the guests to join me.
The bar crowd was stunned. So was Todd when he saw me unpacking dinner in front of his friends. His family showed up too, confused, until I explained: “Todd wanted to ditch the dinner, so I brought it to him.”
Laughter, clapping, even some cheers. His mother called him rude. His friends? They told him they’d never forget this birthday.
The cake said, “Happy Birthday to my self-centered husband.” I read it aloud. The bar erupted.
Todd was humiliated. I was satisfied.
Two weeks later, he’s still quiet and polite. Maybe he’s finally learning. Or maybe he’s just afraid I’ll do it again.