New 52

My husband took me to a fancy restaurant for our anniversary but only let me order a cheap salad – he won’t forget this special day.

On their tenth wedding anniversary, Emma’s husband Mark took her to the fanciest restaurant in town, only to humiliate her with a cheap salad. What he didn’t know was that the next night she would make him (and the entire restaurant) pay for her cruelty.

The soft glow of the chandelier bathed the restaurant in a warm golden light. The atmosphere was sophisticated, with plush velvet chairs and elegant tables.

A restaurant | Source: Pexels

It was our tenth wedding anniversary and my husband, Mark, had promised it would be unforgettable. He had imagined a luxurious evening, with delicious dishes and sparkling wine.

While we were seated, I noticed the knowing smiles exchanged between the waiters. They seemed familiar with Mark. He had reserved a table at “La Belle Époque”, the most expensive restaurant in the city. It was the kind of place reserved for momentous occasions, and tonight was supposed to be one of them.

A rich couple | Source: Pexels

Mark handed me the menu with a nonchalant smile. “Ask for whatever you want, my dear,” he said, though his eyes betrayed a different message. I glanced at the menu, full of exquisite dishes and exorbitant prices, and my mouth watered at the descriptions.

“I think I’ll have lobster bisque to start and then filet mignon,” I said, excitement bubbling inside me.

Mark’s smile grew tighter. “Actually, how about you start with a house salad? Keep it light. You’re trying to lose weight, right? Maybe then you’ll wear that red dress I love next time we come here.”

Lobster | Source: Pexels

His words were like a slap. I looked around, feeling flushed with shame. Was this his idea of ​​a joke? But the steely gleam in her eyes told me she was serious.

“Mark, it’s our anniversary,” I protested quietly. “I thought-“

“You thought wrong,” he interrupted, waving at the waiter. “My wife will have the house salad and I will have the Chateaubriand, half-cooked. And a bottle of your best red.

The waiter hesitated and looked at me sympathetically. “Very well sir”.

Rich woman in a restaurant | Source: Pexels

I swallowed my anger, the salad before me a pitiful mound of vegetables. Mark savored every bite of his splendid meal, boasting how tender the steak was and how rich the sauce was. The wine flowed freely… at least for him. I took a sip of water and every moment of the meal stretched on forever.

Mark’s controlling actions during dinner were a bitter pill to swallow. He enjoyed his steak, commenting on each delicious bite, while I ate my salad.

I tried to stay calm, but my anger boiled beneath the surface. She ordered a delicious chocolate soufflé for dessert and, without even looking at me, she said, “It’s over.”

Chocolate soufflé | Source: Pexels

I felt humiliated. Here I was, on our anniversary, being treated like an afterthought. As I savored his dessert, I decided I wasn’t going to pass this up. I would make sure he remembered this anniversary for the wrong reasons. I smiled to myself, as a plan formed in my mind.

The next morning I got up early. Mark was still snoring next to me. I quietly got out of bed, my mind was full of ideas. After he went to work, I got to work. I called in some favors from friends and made various arrangements. The time had come to change the situation.

Woman on her phone | Source: Pexels

I spent the day getting ready. First I contacted “La Belle Époque” and spoke to the director. I explained my plan and reserved the same table for the next night.

The manager, understanding of my situation, agreed to help me. Then I called a friend who worked at a boutique and asked to borrow the stunning red dress Mark always mentioned.

I also contacted a lawyer friend who helped me open a personal bank account. She confirmed the details of our finances and the emergency fund that Mark had hidden. Knowing that she had access to the money gave me the confidence to move forward.

Woman writing a note | Source: Pexels

With everything ready, I wrote a note to Mark: “See you at La Belle Époque at 7 pm Dress well. –Emma.”

When Mark got home, everything was ready. The house was silent and the note was waiting for him on the kitchen counter. He smiled when he found it, probably thinking that he was in for another night of indulgence at my expense. Little did he know what he had planned.

Couple in a restaurant | Source: Pexels

I felt a mix of nerves and excitement as I prepared for the evening. I knew this was bold, but it was necessary. I wanted to regain my dignity and show Mark that I wouldn’t be treated like a doormat. This was going to be an anniversary none of us would forget, but for very different reasons.

Mark arrived at the restaurant looking satisfied. I was already sitting, wearing the red dress that he loved. As he sat down, I gave him a sweet, enigmatic smile.

“What is this about, Emma?” she asked, curiosity piqued.

Man in a restaurant | Source: Pexels

“You’ll see,” I replied, signaling to the waiter. “I have taken the liberty of placing orders for us.”

He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t argue. The waiter served the first course: lobster bisque. For both of us. Mark’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say a word. Next came the filet mignon, cooked perfectly. He served himself the best wine in the house and I saw him becoming more and more disconcerted.

“Emma, ​​I don’t understand,” he said cautiously. “Yesterday we were here. What is the occasion?”

Woman in cafe with low light | Source: Pexels

“Our anniversary,” I said, my voice full of sweetness. “A night to remember, right? I don’t want to remember last night. I want to remember this one and I made sure you remember it too.”

Mark’s confusion turned to suspicion. He looked around the restaurant, trying to piece it together. I looked at him closely, savoring his restlessness. The main course was served and I enjoyed every bite. Mark, however, barely touched his food, too busy trying to figure out what was going on.

I stood up and clinked my glass, drawing the attention of the entire restaurant. “Excuse me everyone. I have to make a special announcement.”

Restaurant full of people | Source: Pexels

Mark looked horrified. “Emma, ​​what are you doing?”

“I just wanted to share something with all of you,” I said, my voice firm and strong. “Last night, my husband brought me here for our anniversary, but he insisted I order a cheap salad while he treated himself. Tonight he wanted to show her what true indulgence feels like.”

There were murmurs in the room. Mark’s face turned beet red. “Emma, ​​sit down,” he hissed.

Restaurant | Source: Pexels

I ignored it. “But that is not all. Mark, you’ve always prided yourself on being the generous one, the one in control. Tonight I paid for our food and put it into the emergency fund you’ve been hiding from me for years.

He was speechless. “That? How did he-“

“Oh, Mark, you should know by now that I’m smarter than you think. And that’s not all! Here’s something all of you ladies and gentlemen will love to hear: my husband shares his fund with you and pays for all of his meals today!

Confident woman | Source: Pexels

The color drained from Mark’s face. “Emma, ​​this is not funny.”

“No, it’s not,” I said, standing up. “But it’s fair.”

I turned to leave, feeling the weight of the last decade lift from my shoulders. When I came out, the diners applauded and Mark sat there, stunned and humiliated.

This was the anniversary he would not forget. Me neither.

My husband leaves piles of dirty dishes and refuses to wash them – One day I taught him a real lesson

Danielle’s kitchen was once packed with dishes, but a playful plot turned it into a place of collaboration. She discovers how her creative maneuver sparked clean counterattacks and renewed camaraderie in her marriage.

My name is Danielle and, at 45 years old, I’ve seen just about it all. As a nurse, I spend ten hours a day making life a little easier for everyone else, but at home, it’s a completely different story.

Daniela | Source: Halfway through the journey

You see, my husband, Mark, works from home. He earns a good amount more than me, which somehow translates to him calling himself the “true breadwinner.” That’s his excuse for leaving all the household chores to me.

Our kitchen tells the story of abandonment every night. “Welcome to Mount Dishmore,” I murmur as I walk through the door and am greeted by the sight of stacked plates. It’s as if they were competing for a mountaineering record.

A pile of dirty dishes in the sink | Source: Pexels

Mark, lying on the couch, throws out a casual: “Tough day?” my path without moving an inch.

“Yes, and it got harder,” I reply, looking at the chaos in the sink. Something inside me breaks. Enough is enough.

Every morning I leave a note on the refrigerator that says, “Please wash the dishes you use today. Thank you!” But it might as well be invisible. At night, the kitchen sink is a disaster zone. Cups and plates stand precariously, testament to Mark’s culinary adventures throughout the day.

The note | Source: Halfway through the journey

One night, while balancing a frying pan on a wobbly stack of bowls, I asked Mark if he could help me with the dishes. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something here?” he said, eyes glued to the screen of his laptop. That something was obviously very important. So important that he couldn’t stop for a few minutes to help clean up the debris he had contributed to all day.

Read the rest of the story here.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters and details have been changed to protect privacy and improve narrative. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, or to real events is purely coincidental and not the author’s intention.

The author and publisher make no claims as to the accuracy of events or depiction of characters and are not responsible for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and the opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.