I was stunned when my husband, Jake, handed me a schedule to help me “become a better wife.” But instead of blowing up, I played along.Little did Jake know, I was about to teach him a lesson that would make him rethink his newfound approach to marriage.
I’ve always prided myself on being the level-headed one in our marriage. Jake, bless his heart, could get swept up in things pretty easily, whether it was a new hobby, or some random YouTube video that promised to change his life in three easy steps.
But we were solid until Jake met Steve. Steve was the type of guy who thought being loudly opinionated made him right, the type that talks right over you when you try to correct him.
He was also a perpetually single guy (who could have guessed?), who graciously dispensed relationship advice to all his married colleagues, Jake included. Jake should’ve known better, but my darling husband was positively smitten with Steve’s confidence.
I didn’t think much of it until Jake started making some noxious comments.
“Steve says relationships work best when the wife takes charge of the household,” he’d say. Or “Steve thinks it’s important for women to look good for their husbands, no matter how long they’ve been married.”
I’d roll my eyes and reply with some sarcastic remark, but it was getting under my skin. Jake was changing. He’d arch his eyebrows if I ordered takeout instead of cooking, and sigh when I let the laundry pile up because, God forbid, I had my own full-time job.
And then it happened. One night, he came home with The List.
He sat me down at the kitchen table, unfolded a piece of paper, and slid it across to me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice dripping with a condescending tone I hadn’t heard from him before. “You’re a great wife, Lisa. But there’s room for improvement.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Oh really?”
He nodded, oblivious to the danger zone he was entering. “Yeah. Steve helped me realize that our marriage could be even better if you, you know, stepped up a bit.”
I stared at the paper in front of me. It was a schedule… and he’d written “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife” at the top in bold.
This guy had actually sat down and mapped out my entire week based on what Steve — a single guy with zero relationship experience — thought I should do to “improve” myself as a wife.
I was supposed to wake up at 5 a.m. every day to make Jake a gourmet breakfast. Then I’d hit the gym for an hour to “stay in shape.”
After that? A delightful lineup of chores: cleaning, laundry, ironing. And that was all before I left for work. I was supposed to cook a meal from scratch every evening and make fancy snacks for Jake and his friends when they came over to hang out at our place.
The whole thing was sexist and insulting on so many levels I didn’t even know where to start. I ended up staring at him, wondering if my husband had lost his mind.
“This will be great for you, and us,” he continued, oblivious.
“Steve says it’s important to maintain structure, and I think you could benefit from —”
“I could benefit from what?” I interrupted, my voice dangerously calm. Jake blinked, caught off guard by the interruption, but he recovered quickly.
“Well, you know, from having some guidance and a schedule.”
I wanted to throw that paper in his face and ask him if he’d developed a death wish. Instead, I did something that surprised even me: I smiled.
“You’re right, Jake,” I said sweetly. “I’m so lucky that you made me this schedule. I’ll start tomorrow.”
The relief on his face was instant. I almost felt sorry for him as I got up and stuck the list on the fridge. Almost. He had no idea what was coming.
The next day, I couldn’t help but smirk as I studied the ridiculous schedule again. If Jake thought he could hand me a list of “improvements,” then he was about to find out just how much structure our life could really handle.
I pulled out my laptop, opened up a fresh document, and titled it, “Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever.” He wanted a perfect wife? Fine. But there was a cost to perfection.
I began by listing all the things he had suggested for me, starting with the gym membership he was so keen on. It was laughable, really.
“$1,200 for a personal trainer.” I typed, barely containing my giggle.
Next came the food. If Jake wanted to eat like a king, that wasn’t happening on our current grocery budget. Organic, non-GMO, free-range everything? That stuff didn’t come cheap.
“$700 per month for groceries,” I wrote. He’d probably need to chip in for a cooking class too. Those were pricey, but hey, perfection wasn’t free.
I leaned back in my chair, laughing to myself as I imagined Jake’s face when he saw this. But I wasn’t done. Oh no, the pièce de résistance was still to come.
See, there was no way I could juggle all these expectations while holding down my job. If Jake wanted me to dedicate myself full-time to his absurd routine, then he’d have to compensate for the loss of my income.
I pulled up a calculator, estimating the value of my salary. Then, I added it to the list, complete with a little note: “$75,000 per year to replace Lisa’s salary since she will now be your full-time personal assistant, maid, and chef.”
My stomach hurt from laughing at this point.
And just for good measure, I threw in a suggestion about him needing to expand the house. After all, if he was going to have his friends over regularly, they’d need a dedicated space that wouldn’t intrude on my newly organized, impossibly structured life.
“$50,000 to build a separate ‘man cave’ so Jake and his friends don’t disrupt Lisa’s schedule.”
By the time I was done, the list was a masterpiece. A financial and logistical nightmare, sure, but a masterpiece nonetheless. It wasn’t just a counterattack — it was a wake-up call.
I printed it out, set it neatly on the kitchen counter, and waited for Jake to come home. When he finally walked through the door that evening, he was in a good mood.
“Hey, babe,” he called out, dropping his keys on the counter. He spotted the paper almost immediately. “What’s this?”
I kept my face neutral, fighting the urge to laugh as I watched him pick it up. “Oh, it’s just a little list I put together for you,” I said sweetly, “to help you become the best husband ever.”
Jake chuckled, thinking I was playing along with his little game. But as he scanned the first few lines, the grin started to fade. I could see the wheels turning in his head, the slow realization that this wasn’t the lighthearted joke he thought it was.
“Wait… what is all this?” He squinted at the numbers, his eyes widening as he saw the total costs. “$1,200 for a personal trainer? $700 a month for groceries? What the hell, Lisa?”
I leaned against the kitchen island, crossing my arms.
“Well, you want me to wake up at 5 a.m., hit the gym, make gourmet breakfasts, clean the house, cook dinner, and host your friends. I figured we should budget for all of that, don’t you think?”
His face turned pale as he flipped through the pages. “$75,000 a year? You’re quitting your job?!”
I shrugged. “How else am I supposed to follow your plan? I can’t work and be the perfect wife, right?”
He stared at the paper, dumbfounded.
The numbers, the absurdity of his own demands, it all hit him at once. His smugness evaporated, replaced by a dawning realization that he had seriously, seriously messed up.
“I… I didn’t mean…” Jake stammered, looking at me with wide eyes. “Lisa, I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I just thought —”
Bullied Guy Planned a Class Reunion on His Yacht – The Party Was Great until He Pulled out a 10-Year-Old Video
The class reunion on Mark’s yacht seemed like a dream come true until he fired up a video projector. As familiar faces from our past flickered across the screen, I realized this wasn’t a celebration — it was a reckoning, and we were trapped miles from shore.
I stared at the invitation in my hand, feeling a knot in my stomach. Mark, the kid we used to torment in high school, was throwing a class reunion on his yacht. Weird, right? I mean, who even owns a yacht at 28?
A hand holding a printed invitation | Source: Pexels
“You going to that thing?” my roommate asked, peering over my shoulder.
“I guess,” I shrugged. “Might as well see how everyone turned out.”
The afternoon of the party, I showed up in my best shirt, trying to look like I had my life together. As I stepped onto the yacht, I whistled. This thing was nicer than my entire apartment.
“Nick! You made it!” Mark’s voice boomed across the deck.
I turned and my jaw dropped. Gone was the chubby, brace-faced kid we used to pick on. In his place stood a confident, fit guy in an expensive suit.
A smartly-suited man standing on a yacht jetty | Source: Pexels
“Mark? Holy moly, man. You look… different,” I stammered.
He laughed, clapping me on the back. “Amazing what a decade and a few million dollars can do, right?”
As I mingled, I noticed something odd. Only a handful of people from our class were here. Mostly the popular crowd — or should I say, the mean crowd.
Amy, the queen bee, sauntered over. “Can you believe this? Guess karma doesn’t exist after all.”
I forced a smile, but something felt off. Why would Mark invite his former bullies to this swanky party?
A man setting out to sea on a yacht | Source: Pexels
“Nick, my man!” Chris, our old quarterback, stumbled over with a drink in hand. “Can you believe Marky Mark pulled this off? Who’d have thought the little nerd had it in him?”
I winced at his words. “Come on, Chris. That was a long time ago.”
“What? I’m complimenting the guy!” Chris defended, but his tone was still mocking.
As the party went on and we ventured further out to sea, I kept getting flashes of high school. Shoving Mark into lockers. Laughing as he ate lunch alone. God, we were such jerks.
A group of high school students posing in a hallway | Source: Pexels
“Having fun?” A guy with curly hair and glasses appeared next to me.
“Uh, yeah. I’m Nick. You are…?”
“Ben. Mark’s friend from high school.” His tone was cold.
“Oh, cool. I don’t remember you,” I said, trying to be friendly.
Ben’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, you wouldn’t. I was the only one who was nice to Mark back then.”
Before I could respond, Mark clinked his glass. “Everyone! If I could have your attention please!”
The music faded and Mark moved to the front of the deck. A projector screen lowered behind him.
A man taking a position on the deck of a yacht | Source: Pexels
“I’m so glad you all could make it today,” he began, a weird smirk on his face. “I thought we could take a little trip down memory lane.”
The screen flickered to life and my blood ran cold. It was us. In high school. Tormenting Mark.
“Oh dear,” Amy whispered beside me.
We watched in horror as scene after scene played out. Us calling Mark names. Pushing him around. Laughing as he cried.
When it ended, Mark just stood there, letting the silence hang heavy.
A close-up of a serious-looking man on a yacht | Source: Midjourney
“You all remember those days, right?” he finally said. “Well, I haven’t forgotten either.”
Suddenly, the yacht’s engine roared to life. Panic set in as I realized we were moving further away from shore.
“What the hell, Mark?” Chris yelled, his earlier bravado gone.
Mark’s smile never wavered. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you. I just thought you all might enjoy a taste of isolation. Like I did.”
“This is insane,” Sophia cried. “I’m calling the police!”
“Good luck,” Mark chuckled. “No signal out here.” He shrugged off his jacket and held up a cocktail mockingly.
A man on the deck of a yacht, laughing | Source: Pexels
For the next hour, Mark went person by person, recounting every cruel thing we’d ever done to him. It was excruciating.
“Amy,” he said, turning to her. “Remember when you started that rumor about me having lice? I had to change schools for a month.”
Amy’s face crumpled. “I… I didn’t think…”
“Of course you didn’t,” Mark cut her off. “None of you did.”
A young man and woman having a conversation onboard a boat | Source: Pexels
He turned to Chris next. “And you, Mr. Big Shot Quarterback. Remember dunking my head in the toilet every day for a week?”
Chris looked like he might be sick. “Come on, man. That was just locker room stuff…”
“Was it?” Mark’s voice was ice cold. “Because it felt like torture to me.”
“Mark, come on,” Ben said softly. “This isn’t what we talked about.”
Wait, what? Ben was in on this?
“Shut up, Ben,” Mark snapped. “They need to understand.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. “Mark, stop! We get it, okay? What we did was awful. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
A man standing on the edge of the deck of a yacht, looking serious | Source: Midjourney
The yacht fell silent. Mark stared at me, his expression unreadable.
“You’re sorry?” he asked quietly.
I nodded, feeling tears prick my eyes. “We were stupid kids. But that’s no excuse. What we did to you was cruel and you didn’t deserve any of it. I’m sorry, man. I really am.”
For a moment, Mark’s tough facade cracked. He looked… surprised.
“Nick,” he said slowly. “Do you remember the day you stole my clothes during gym class?”
I flinched at the memory. “Yeah. I do.”
A man on a yacht reacts with concern | Source: Midjourney
“I had to wear my gym shorts all day. Everyone laughed.”
“I know,” I said, my voice breaking. “It was an awful thing to do. I’ve felt guilty about it for years.”
Mark studied me for a long moment. “You have?”
Amy stepped forward, mascara streaking her cheeks. “I’m sorry too. Wow, I was such a cow back then.”
“We all were,” Sophia added quietly. “Mark, what we did… it was unforgivable.”
One by one, everyone started apologizing. Even Chris, who’d always been the worst, looked ashamed.
A man gestures with his hand towards another | Source: Pexels
“I… I didn’t expect this,” Mark admitted, his voice shaky.
Ben put a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe it’s time to head back, buddy.”
Mark nodded slowly. “Yeah. Maybe it is.”
We all stood in awkward silence. The sun was just starting to set, painting the sky in pinks and oranges.
“I forgive you,” Mark said quietly. “I just needed you to understand. To remember.”
We nodded, no one quite sure what to say. By this point, we were close to a small island. Someone had popped a bottle of champagne and handed it round in an attempt to break the silence.
A party aboard a boat | Source: Pexels
“So,” Chris ventured after a while. “You’re like, some big shot IT guy now?”
Mark chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. Started my own cybersecurity firm a few years back.”
“That’s awesome, man,” I said sincerely. “You always were the smartest kid in class.”
“Didn’t feel that way back then,” Mark replied, but there was no bitterness in his tone now.
Amy cleared her throat. “Mark? I know we don’t deserve it, but… do you think we could start over? Maybe grab coffee sometime?”
A woman smiling, talking to a man on the deck of a boat | Source: Pexels
Mark considered this for a moment. “You know what? I’d like that. All of you,” he added, looking around. “If you want.”
Then, to everyone’s surprise, Mark’s serious expression melted into a grin. “Now that we’ve cleared the air, who’s ready for a real party?” The tension broke like a dam. Cheers erupted as Mark cranked up the music and popped open another bottle of champagne.
“Let’s moor off this little island,” he shouted over the beat. “The night’s still young!”
A man peers overboard towards a small offshore island | Source: Pexels
As we anchored near a picturesque cove, the party kicked into high gear. But this time, it felt different. Genuine. We weren’t just former classmates pretending to like each other. We were people reconnecting, learning who we’d become.
I found myself in deep conversation with Amy about her struggles as a single mom. Chris opened up about his failed pro career and subsequent depression. Even Ben, once standoffish, shared stories of his and Mark’s friendship over the years.
A woman aboard a yacht holds up a drink in celebration | Source: Pexels
As the sun dipped below the horizon, I realized we’d be partying through the night. For the first time, I felt like I was truly getting to know these people. And them, me.
Mark raised his glass for a final toast. “To new beginnings,” he said. We clinked our glasses, no longer trapped by our past, but looking forward to the future.
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