I thought I was being a good wife by throwing a celebratory dinner party for my husband Todd’s 35th birthday. But just before the guests were to arrive, he told me he was skipping the party and going to the bar to watch the game. What happened next? Let’s just say I was left with the last laugh.
You would think six years of marriage would teach a person a little gratitude, but not Todd. Every year I put all my heart and soul into his birthday party and he took it all for granted.
But this year, his sense of self-worth reached a new level.
Six years. That’s how long Todd and I have been married.
Don’t get me wrong, our relationship isn’t always bad. Todd can be charming when he wants to be, and we’ve had some great moments together. But there is one thing about him that completely pisses me off.
His sense of entitlement.
Take last Christmas, for example. Todd offered to throw a dinner party for both of our families. He announced it over breakfast, smiling as if he’d solved world hunger.
‘Claire,’ he said, ’I think we should have Christmas this year.’
‘Okay,’ I replied. – ‘That sounds like a good idea. How are we going to divide up the chores?’
He brushed it off as if I’d asked him to do a headstand.
‘Oh, you’re much better at these things,’ he said. – ‘I’ll take care of the drinks or something. Make it memorable, okay?’
I should have understood, but I agreed.
For two months I planned and cooked while Todd played fantasy football and occasionally asked me, ‘Is there anything you need to buy?’
On the day of dinner, I roasted a turkey, made side dishes, and even baked two pies.
And Todd? He brought a beer cooler into the living room. And that was it.
After dinner, when everyone was praising the food and decorating, Todd decided to take all the credit.
‘Glad you like it,’ he said. – ‘I wanted this year to be special.’
I thought I’d misheard.
‘Oh, really?’ – I asked. – ‘What exactly did you want to be special? The green bean casserole or the centrepiece?’
He ignored me, of course.
And that’s Todd in a nutshell. He wants credit without lifting a finger.
Then there was last year, his birthday.
I spent weeks creating a personalised photo album, filling it with photos from our travels and special moments together. I couldn’t wait to see his reaction when he unpacked it.
But when he finished looking through the pages, he simply said: ‘О. Where’s the real present?’
It wasn’t just his words that hurt, it was the sheer audacity of it.
I married a man who once wrote me poetry and now can’t appreciate a sincere gesture. That moment shattered something in me.
I realised he was no longer the man I had fallen in love with.
And then came his 35th birthday. The last straw.
We were having dinner when Todd calmly informed me of his plans.
‘Claire, this year I want a big, real birthday dinner,’ he said. – ‘Invite the family, my friends, everyone.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘You mean I should organise everything?’
‘Well, yeah,’ he said. – ‘You’re good at that. Do something decent, okay? I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of everyone.’
‘Decent?’ – I repeated.
‘Yeah, just don’t go overboard. Do it in moderation.’
See that dignity? See how he thinks he deserves a party for his birthday, despite how he hurt me with his words last time?
Honestly, I didn’t want to agree, but I decided to give him another chance. After all, it was his birthday and I wanted to make it special, even if he didn’t deserve it.
For two weeks, I dedicated myself to organising ‘a big, real dinner for Todd’s birthday’. If he wanted restraint, I would provide it for him.
I put together an impressive menu with spinach-stuffed chicken, rosemary potatoes, cheeses I couldn’t pronounce, and a three-layer chocolate cake that would be the highlight.
Every day after work I would come home, tie my hair up and start cleaning, organising and cooking. I even borrowed extra chairs and a folding table from our neighbour, Janice, so everyone could sit down.
Todd? He didn’t do anything.
‘I’m at work,’ he said one evening, kicking off his shoes and plopping down on the couch. – ‘But you’ll get through this, honey. You’re good at it.’
Good at it? I was so tired I could have cried.
But instead of exploding, I smiled and said: ‘Yeah, I can handle it.’
The day of the party finally arrived.
I got up early, determined to make everything perfect.
The house was spotless. The table was set with perfect tablecloths and little handwritten name cards. The appetisers were in the fridge, the main courses were languishing and the cake was decorated with edible gold flakes.
Yes, I went for it.
Todd walked into the kitchen around noon, leafing through his phone as usual. He barely noticed the food spread.
‘Looks good,’ he muttered, opening the fridge and pulling out a soda.
‘Looks good?’ – I repeated, half-jokingly, half-seriously hoping he’d notice my effort.
‘Yeah,’ he said, closing the fridge. Then, as if nothing had happened, added: ‘But don’t end it all.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m going to the bar with the guys to watch the game. Cancel everything. Tell everyone something’s up.’
‘You’re going to throw your own dinner?’ – I asked. – ‘Todd, I’ve been planning this for weeks!’
‘Don’t worry, Claire,’ he said, waving me off. – ‘Just tell everyone we’re busy or something. They’ll understand.’
‘They’ll understand?’ – My voice rose. – ‘Todd, people are on their way! You told me to do the decent thing and now you’re leaving?’
‘I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of the guys,’ he said, ending the conversation.
He then grabbed his jacket and walked out the door.
‘You can’t do that, Todd!’ – I shouted, but he was already gone.
I was so heartbroken. I had put my heart and soul and all my savings into this dinner and he just walked away as if nothing had happened.
Cancel everything? After everything I’d done?
But most of all, I felt humiliated.
How could he do this to me? How could he so easily ignore all my efforts as if they meant nothing?
I stared at the table while the candles scoffed.
Is it worth it, Claire? – I asked myself. Is this how you want Todd to treat you? No. You can’t let that happen.
In that moment, I decided I wasn’t going to cancel dinner. I’m not gonna let him make me feel guilty again.
If Todd wants to act like a spoiled brat, so be it, but I’m gonna show him what real ‘shame’ means. He didn’t know who he was messing with.
I pulled out my phone and sent a group message to all the guests:
‘Party is still on! Change of plans. Meet at the bar on the main street near our house. Bring an appetite!’
Then I got down to business.
I packed up all the food and loaded it into the car. Then I drove straight to the bar Todd had mentioned.
When I arrived, the place was already full of people. I looked around and noticed Todd sitting at a table with his friends, his back to the door. He was completely unaware of my presence.
‘Ma’am, can I help you?’ – The bartender asked, seeing the trays of food.
I smiled my sweetest smile. ‘Oh, I’m just here to share a meal with people who will really appreciate it.’
I chose a table next to the bar, within sight of Todd, and began laying out the dishes. The smell of food quickly caught the attention of everyone in the room. The people around me started craning their necks to see what was going on.
‘What’s that?’ – One man asked, pointing at the treats I was putting out.
I raised my voice so the whole room could hear me, ‘This was supposed to be my husband’s birthday dinner. But he decided to leave me and come here, so I thought, why would it all go to waste?’
The room exploded with talking and laughter, and some people even applauded. Then Todd finally turned around and saw me.
He immediately walked over, his friends started whispering.
‘Claire! What are you doing?’ – he hissed, his eyes darting nervously between me and the growing crowd.
I didn’t even look at him.
I turned to the nearest group of people. ‘Do you like ham? Help yourselves! The cake will be here soon.’
Just as Todd started to get indignant again, the door opened and his parents, my parents, my sister and our cousins walked in.
They looked at us, then at the food and then at everyone enjoying what was supposed to be a formal dinner.
Todd’s mother, bless her candour, walked right up to him. ‘What’s going on here, Todd? Claire said to meet here for dinner, and why is she serving food at the bar?’
Todd looked like he wanted to fall through the ground.
‘Um, it’s complicated, Mom,’ he muttered.
‘Oh, I’d love to explain!’ – I intervened. – ‘Todd decided that watching the game with his friends was more important than dinner, which he asked me to organise himself. So I brought dinner here!’
His father shook his head. ‘How disrespectful,’ he muttered.
Meanwhile, my mum picked up a plate and said: ‘The food smells amazing. Let’s eat!’
Soon the whole family joined the other diners in partaking of the meal I had spent so long preparing.
And Todd’s friends? They all laughed at him and said they would never forget the day.
When I brought the cake, the bar was like a real party. It said in big letters on the cake:
Happy Birthday to my selfish husband!
The bar exploded with laughter when I read it out loud, but Todd wasn’t pleased.
‘Did you really have to do that, Claire?’ – he muttered.
I tilted my head, smiling a sweet smile. ‘Absolutely.’
When everyone had eaten, I started to collect the empty trays. Just then, the bartender stopped me.
‘Ma’am, you’re a legend,’ he said. – ‘Drinks are on the house if you ever come back. Without him, of course!’
I laughed. ‘Thanks! I’ll be sure to stop by sometime.’
The family didn’t linger long after the meal was over. My dad gave me a proud nod as he left, and Todd’s mother said he could have done better.
As we drove home, Todd kept grumbling about how he was ‘humiliated.’ As soon as we got back, he started complaining even more.
‘Claire, you humiliated me in front of everyone!’ – he said, spreading his hands.
‘No, Todd,’ I replied. – ‘You humiliated yourself. And by the way, don’t expect any more home-cooked dinners anytime soon.’
He realised it was useless to argue with me. He just turned round and went into the bedroom.
Two weeks have passed since then, and believe me, Todd has changed. Well, mostly.
His unrealistic demands have lessened and he’s become unusually polite, almost as if he’s afraid I’ll give him another one of these. He hasn’t apologised directly for dumping me, but his ingratiating behaviour speaks for itself.
I guess now he knows I’m not the kind of wife who’ll put up with his nonsense. If nothing else, it’s a victory.
What would you do if you were me?
