When my husband Ethan first pushed a piece of paper across the kitchen table, I thought it would be a grocery list or a note about our upcoming appointments. Instead, I found myself staring at something that rendered me utterly speechless: a neatly typed schedule detailing how I could “improve” as a wife. While many would have tossed it aside in frustration, I chose to approach it with a steady and careful touch. Ethan really believed he could turn me into some kind of domestic ideal with his little printed schedule, but he was in for a big surprise.
I always thought of myself as the steady one in our marriage—calm, patient, and more likely to give others the benefit of the doubt. Ethan, in contrast, often embraced new ideas with a sense of wonder and excitement that felt almost innocent. Most of the time, it was just harmless things: a high-end blender he insisted would make us health enthusiasts, or an online guitar class he believed would bring out his inner rock star. Recently, Ethan found himself swayed by his co-worker Glen, who claimed to be a “expert” on relationships, even though he had never actually maintained one himself. Glen was the type of person who believed that being loud meant being right, the sort who could ramble on for ages without ever really paying attention. He enjoyed sharing his opinions on how wives ought to act, and it seemed that Ethan had absorbed every single one of those suggestions.
Initially, Ethan would make subtle remarks that really caught my attention. “Glen believes that managing a household is primarily the wife’s duty,” he would say nonchalantly, or “Glen thinks women ought to always maintain their attractiveness.” I would roll my eyes or respond with something sarcastic, hoping Ethan would see how absurd it all was. He appeared to grow more convinced with each conversation, adopting a subtle look of disapproval whenever I opted for takeout instead of cooking dinner or let a pile of laundry sit until the weekend.
Then came the night Ethan sat me down, carefully smoothing out a printout like it was an important contract. “I’ve been thinking about our marriage,” he said, his voice laced with what he probably believed was a kind of gentle authority. “Marisol, you’re an amazing wife, but I believe there are some areas where we can grow together.” He spoke to me as if I were just a machine that needed fixing, and I could almost catch a glimpse of excitement in his gaze. My jaw clenched. Improvement, based on whose perspective?
I looked down at the paper. At the top, in bold letters, read “Marisol’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife.” Right away, I felt my stomach twist uncomfortably. He had laid it all out for me: a detailed schedule for my entire week, from the break of dawn to the time I went to bed, telling me exactly how to spend every single moment to achieve some warped idea of wifely perfection.
I looked over the list: wake up at 5:00 a.m. to prepare him a gourmet breakfast. After that, I’d hit the gym to keep my figure in check. After that, I would dedicate the remaining time before work to cleaning, organizing, and ironing my clothes. After finishing my own job—because yes, I was still working full-time—I would come home to whip up elaborate dinners, serve canapés when his friends came over, and make sure the house was spotless before collapsing into bed at night.
I was completely taken aback for a moment by the sheer boldness of it all. Ethan suggesting I could be more domestic was one thing, but handing me a detailed plan felt like something out of a 1950s instruction manual, as if I were just a character in it. All of this came from Glen, a bachelor who wouldn’t recognize a stable relationship even if it tap-danced right in front of him.
Ethan’s face was lit up with hope, as if he was waiting for me to overflow with thanks. I held back my anger and decided to approach things differently. I put on a gentle smile and replied, “You know, Ethan, you might have a point.” Perhaps this framework will be beneficial for me. He instantly felt at ease, the tension in his forehead easing away. He expressed his gratitude for my understanding, completely oblivious to the fact that I had no plans to stick to his script.
The following morning, while Ethan was still asleep, I brewed myself a cup of tea and took a closer look at that absurd schedule. If he expected me to be the “perfect wife,” perhaps it was time to demonstrate that perfection doesn’t come cheap. Although he had innocently written up a neat little plan, I was on the verge of creating a detailed invoice that would outline the true costs of his requests in terms of time, money, and personal sacrifice.
I settled in at my laptop and started working. Initially, I wrote down all the suggestions that Ethan had put forward. Those first trips to the gym? Sure, I could hire a personal trainer, but they can be quite expensive. How about we consider a minimum of $1,200 a year? Next, the exquisite breakfasts and high-end dinners called for only the finest ingredients. We couldn’t just expect organic produce and free-range options to show up in our kitchen, and those bulk frozen pizzas just wouldn’t satisfy us anymore. We should consider increasing the grocery budget to around $700 each month.
If Ethan thought I would be cooking for his friends, I’d definitely need some cooking classes to sharpen my skills in the kitchen. Those classes and specialized equipment are likely to come with a hefty price tag. So, what about the time? How can I keep up with my full-time job if I’m dedicating hours each day to this routine? If I had to spend so many hours on household chores, my paycheck would just disappear. I added a note: to make up for the loss of my salary, Ethan would need to pay me what I used to earn at my job—let’s say $75,000 a year. After all, if he was turning me into a full-time personal maid, cook, and event planner, he ought to compensate for my lost income.
So, what’s the deal with space? If he wanted to have his friends over often, we’d need to set up a special space for entertaining. I wrote down another note: $50,000 to create a “man cave” so his friends wouldn’t interfere with my meticulously planned routine. After all, if perfection really mattered, his friends wouldn’t be messing up my workspace or my peace of mind.
When I finally wrapped up my typing, the list had transformed into a magnificent chaos. Each of his demands carried a price—whether it was financial, emotional, or a combination of the two. I took the time to print out the document and placed it right beside the original schedule. I came up with my own little counterproposal called “Ethan’s Plan for Supporting the Perfect Wife.” I was so eager for him to see it.
That evening, Ethan strolled into the kitchen, humming a little tune to himself. He noticed the new document waiting for him. “What’s this?” he inquired, lifting it up with a relaxed demeanor. I propped myself up against the counter, arms crossed, and took in the show.
Initially, he attempted to laugh, as if we were sharing a lighthearted secret together. But as he glanced at the numbers—the gym fees, the grocery budget, the cooking classes, the compensation for my lost salary—his smile began to fade. When he finally hit the projected $75,000 a year that I would need if I left my job to pursue his “improvement plan,” he appeared downright sickly.
“Are you serious?” he exclaimed, stretching the paper out in front of him as if it could leap out and attack. “$1,200 for a trainer?” Are you spending hundreds more on groceries each month? Are you asking for seventy-five thousand dollars to cover your salary? “Marisol, this is absolutely wild!”
I lifted an eyebrow, pretending to be unaware. “But sweetheart, you were the one who wanted everything to be structured and perfect.” Don’t you see that it requires resources? If I’m going to dedicate my life to fulfilling all these expectations, we have to approach it as seriously as a full-time job.
He stammered, rifling through the pages, discovering one line after another filled with expenses and adjustments. “But—this was meant to be a helpful schedule!” he exclaimed. “I never intended…” <text”I honestly didn’t consider the expenses!”
“Exactly,” I replied with a sense of calm. “You didn’t consider the costs, not only in financial terms but also regarding respect and partnership.” Marriage isn’t just about one person giving commands. It’s all about working together and appreciating the time and effort we each bring to the table. What you provided was basically a plan for making me your own personal housekeeper.
Ethan felt the heaviness settle on his shoulders as he came to terms with the extent of his mistake. The pride and superiority he had flaunted the night before faded, giving way to feelings of shame and regret. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I found myself tangled in Glen’s nonsense.” He presented it in such a simple way, almost as if specific ‘roles’ would naturally align if we just set a few guidelines. I truly didn’t intend to offend you or diminish the importance of all that you do.
I nodded slowly, letting him witness the pain he had inflicted. “I love you, Ethan, but if you ever try to ‘fix’ me like that again, I’ll have to remind you—once more—just how unrealistic your expectations really are.” In this marriage, we are equals, and it’s important for us to act that way.
He took a deep breath and then grabbed the schedule he had first handed to me. He didn’t say a thing; he just ripped it in two and tossed the fragments into the recycling bin. I went ahead and created my own list, tearing it into tidy strips until there were no readable numbers left.
For a brief moment, we remained quiet, the atmosphere heavy with a shared sense of understanding and regret. Then Ethan gave a small, crooked smile. “I think we’ve both made our point, haven’t we?” he said gently.
I smiled back at him, feeling a sense of relief as the tension began to fade away. “Absolutely, I believe so.” Let’s move forward and focus on what truly counts.
That evening, we decided to get takeout, lounged on the couch, and reminisced about the things that initially connected us. Forget about lists, routines, or anyone else’s twisted notions of gender roles. We discussed trust, kindness, and partnership—how to create a life that suits both of us, rather than conforming to someone else’s limited vision.
Ethan learned a valuable lesson, and I did too. Every now and then, a sudden shock—a clash with the ridiculous—can serve as a wake-up call, reminding us that marriage isn’t about reshaping one partner to fit the other’s vision. It’s all about evolving together, fostering mutual respect and understanding. In that way, the torn-up schedules tossed in the trash were a minor sacrifice for a deeper, more equitable connection.
Summarized:
Marisol, a wife, was taken aback when her husband Ethan presented her with a neatly typed schedule detailing how she could “improve” as a wife. She always thought of herself as the steady one in their marriage—level-headed, patient, and more likely to give people the benefit of the doubt. Ethan often grabbed onto new ideas with a kind of innocent excitement, typically about harmless things. Recently, Ethan found himself swayed by his co-worker Glen, who likes to call himself a “expert” on relationships, even though he’s never actually been in one that lasted. Glen had a knack for sharing his opinions on how wives ought to act, and it seemed that Ethan absorbed every single one of his suggestions.
Ethan would throw out little remarks that made Marisol raise an eyebrow, yet somehow, he appeared even more convinced after each chat. That night, Ethan took a seat, carefully smoothing out a printout like it was an important contract. He remarked, “You’re a wonderful wife, Marisol, but I think there’s some room for improvement.” He spoke to me as if I were just a machine that needed fixing, and I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of excitement in his gaze.
At the top, in bold letters, it read “Marisol’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife.” At the top, in bold letters, it read “Marisol’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife.” The schedule featured waking up at 5:00 a.m. to whip up a gourmet breakfast, hitting the gym to “keep my figure,” dedicating the remaining pre-work hours to cleaning, organizing, and ironing clothes, and returning home to craft elaborate dinners, serve canapés for visiting friends, and make sure the house was immaculate before collapsing into bed at night.
Marisol was left momentarily speechless by the sheer audacity of it all. Ethan suggesting I could be more domestic was one thing, but handing me a detailed plan felt like something straight out of a 1950s instruction manual. Ethan’s face was lit up with hope, as if he was waiting for me to overflow with thanks. I held back my frustration and decided to approach things differently, putting on a cheerful smile and saying, “You know, Ethan, you could be onto something.” Perhaps this framework will be beneficial for me. He instantly felt at ease, the tension in his forehead easing away. He expressed his gratitude for my understanding, completely oblivious to the fact that I had no plans to stick to his script.
The following morning, Marisol got ready to create a thorough invoice outlining the expectations her husband, Ethan, had for her to be the “perfect wife.” She went through each suggestion Ethan had offered, covering the expenses for gym visits, fancy breakfasts, high-end dinners, and cooking classes. She also said that she would need to raise the grocery budget to $700 a month to make up for the loss of her salary.
To make up for the loss of her salary, Marisol proposed that Ethan should pay her the same amount she earned at her job, which came to $75,000 a year. She also brought up the importance of having a dedicated entertainment space and a budget of $50,000 to create a “man cave,” ensuring that her carefully planned schedule wouldn’t be interrupted by his friends.
When Marisol finally wrapped up her typing, the list had transformed into a magnificent chaos, each of his requests carrying a price—whether it be financial, emotional, or a mix of both. She printed a document and placed it beside the original schedule, labeled “Ethan’s Plan for Supporting the Perfect Wife.” Ethan noticed the new document and observed it with a relaxed demeanor.
Ethan stared at the figures, his face turning a shade of green. He was taken aback by how serious Ethan was regarding the costs. It dawned on him that marriage isn’t just about one person calling the shots; it’s about sharing responsibilities and appreciating each other’s time and efforts. Marisol emphasized that marriage is not about one person giving commands; it’s about sharing responsibilities and appreciating each other’s time and efforts.
Ethan came to understand the gravity of his mistake and sincerely apologized for his arrogance and condescension. He expressed regret for getting swept up in Glen’s antics and assured that he never intended to insult or undermine all that Marisol accomplished. He acknowledged that if Ethan attempted to ‘fix’ him in that way again, he would need to demonstrate just how unrealistic his expectations really are.
Ethan ripped the schedule he had first handed to her into shreds and tossed the scraps into the recycling bin. Marisol smiled back, feeling a sense of relief as the tension began to fade away. He acknowledged that they had both made their point, realizing that sometimes a sudden shock—a clash with the ridiculous—can serve as a reminder that marriage isn’t about shaping one partner to fit the other’s vision. It’s all about evolving side by side, fostering respect and understanding for one another. The torn-up schedules tossed in the trash were a minor sacrifice for a deeper, more equitable connection.
