They say revenge is a dish best served cold. In my case, it was served at room temperature in a crowded sports bar to my ungrateful husband Todd on his 35th birthday.
For six years, I’ve watched Todd take credit for my efforts while contributing nothing. When he demanded a “classy” birthday dinner for twenty people, I saw it as an opportunity to show him how much work actually goes into these events he so casually requests.
I spent every evening for two weeks preparing – cleaning, cooking, even hand-writing place cards. Todd’s contribution? Occasionally looking up from his phone to say, “You’re good at this stuff.” The day before the party, he actually had the nerve to complain I was “going overboard.”
Then came the ultimate betrayal. As I was putting finishing touches on his birthday feast, Todd announced he was ditching his own party to watch a game at a bar with his friends. “Just tell everyone we’re busy,” he said, as if canceling weeks of preparation was no big deal.
That’s when I decided if Todd wanted to celebrate at a bar, we’d celebrate at a bar. I packed up every dish, from the appetizers to the gold-leaf decorated cake, and drove straight to his sports bar. Setting up an impromptu buffet in the middle of the establishment, I announced to the room that my husband had abandoned his birthday dinner, so we’d be sharing it with everyone.
The scene was glorious. Todd’s face when he turned to see me serving filet mignon to bar patrons was worth every minute of preparation. His parents arrived to find their son’s fancy dinner being served on paper plates. His friends roasted him mercilessly. And the cake? I’d specially iced “Happy birthday to my selfish husband” across the top.
Todd called me vindictive. I call it justice. For the first time in our marriage, he’s actually appreciating what I do around the house. Funny how a little public humiliation can change a man’s perspective.
