I never imagined I’d become the “nagging wife,” but living with two grown men turned me into one. When my husband’s best friend moved in during his home renovation, I expected basic courtesy. Instead, I got a crash course in frat house living.
For weeks, I bit my tongue as they trashed our home. Then came the breaking point: finding cheesy fingerprints on our new sofa and a mountain of takeout containers in what used to be my clean kitchen. Instead of another argument, I went on strike. No more laundry service, no more dishwashing fairy, no more maid.
The turning point came when my book club met at our house. The horrified looks from my friends as they stepped over discarded socks and pizza crusts spoke volumes. That night, my husband finally saw our home through my eyes. His friend moved out the following weekend, and we’ve had a chore chart ever since.
