Todd, my husband, just turned 35, and I had meticulously planned a fancy birthday dinner to celebrate him. I envisioned a night filled with laughter, good food, and the warmth of friends and family. But just before the guests arrived, he decided to abandon the celebration to watch the game at a bar with his friends. What did I do next? To put it simply, I won.
After six years of marriage, you’d think Todd would have learned to appreciate my efforts, but he hasn’t.
Each year, I pour my heart and soul into his birthday celebrations, but it often feels like he doesn’t notice. This year, however, his sense of entitlement felt more pronounced than ever.
Six years. That’s how long I’ve been married to Todd.
To be fair, our relationship has had its highlights. Todd can be charming and funny when he wants to be, and we’ve shared many wonderful moments. But there’s one thing about him that consistently frustrates me: his expectation of credit for everything while contributing very little.
Take last Thanksgiving, for instance. Todd came up with the grand idea of hosting dinner for both our families. He announced it over breakfast with a grin, as if he had just solved world hunger.
“Claire,” he said, “I believe we should host Thanksgiving this year.”
I replied, “Sure, that sounds good.”
For the next two weeks, while Todd immersed himself in fantasy football, I busied myself with planning and preparation. I roasted the turkey, crafted delicious sides, and even baked two pies for the occasion.
And what did Todd do? He simply brought a cooler of beer into the living room.
As the family praised the food and decorations after dinner, Todd took center stage. “I’m glad you all love it,” he said, puffing out his chest. “This year, I wanted it to be different.”
Clearly, he hadn’t noticed my efforts at all. It was disheartening. Todd seemed to care more about the spotlight than recognizing the hard work I put in.
Then came his 35th birthday, which felt like the final straw.
While we were having dinner, Todd casually mentioned his plans: “This year for my birthday, I want a big, fancy dinner. Get my family, friends, and everyone to come.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to plan it?”
“Of course!” he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re great at this. Just make it nice. I don’t want to look bad in front of everyone.”
“Sorry?” I repeated, incredulous.
“Just keep it classy,” he added with a wave of his hand.
Though part of me wanted to refuse, I agreed, hoping this would be his wake-up call. After all, it was his birthday, and I wanted to make it special, even if he didn’t deserve it.
Over the next two weeks, I poured my energy into planning Todd’s “big, proper birthday dinner.” I tied my hair back after work and dove into cleaning, organizing, and preparing everything. I even borrowed extra chairs and a folding table from our neighbor, Janice.
What did Todd contribute? Not a single thing. One evening, he kicked off his shoes, plopped on the couch, and said, “I’m swamped at work. You’ve got this, honey. You’re good at these things.”
Good at these things? I was exhausted and on the brink of tears, but I managed a smile and said, “Yeah, I’ve got this.”
Finally, the day of the party arrived. I woke up early, determined to make everything perfect.
The house was spotless, the table adorned with matching covers and hand-written name cards. The starters were laid out, the main courses were cooking, and I even topped the cake with edible gold flakes.
Around noon, Todd ambled into the kitchen, scrolling through his phone, completely oblivious to the effort I’d put in. “Looks good,” he muttered, before casually adding, “But I’m going to the bar with the guys to watch the game.”
My heart sank. “You’re not going to your birthday dinner?” I exclaimed. “We’ve been planning this for weeks, Todd!”
“It’s not a big deal, Claire,” he shrugged. “Just call everyone and tell them we’re busy. They’ll understand.”
I was incredulous. “You can’t do this!” But he had already left, leaving a gaping hole where my efforts had been.
I felt broken. Everything I’d done seemed to mean nothing to him. I stared at the flickering candles on the table, questioning my self-worth. Was this how little I mattered to Todd?
In that moment, I made a decision: I wouldn’t cancel the dinner. I wouldn’t let him diminish my efforts again. If Todd wanted to act like a spoiled brat, I would show him what “embarrassing” really meant.
I grabbed my phone and texted all the guests:
“Plans have changed! There’s still a party! Come meet us at the bar on Main Street. Bring something to eat!”
With that, I packed up the food and headed straight to the bar Todd had mentioned.
When I arrived, the place was buzzing with energy. I spotted Todd sitting at a table, back turned to the door, oblivious to my presence.
“Uh, ma’am? Can I help you?” the bartender asked, eyes wide at the sight of my food trays.
I smiled brightly. “Oh, I’m just gathering some nice people for a meal.”
I chose a table near the bar, set out dish after dish, and soon enough, the aroma wafted through the air, capturing everyone’s attention.
“What’s this about?” a few patrons inquired.
I raised my voice just enough to be heard across the room. “This was supposed to be my husband’s birthday dinner, but he chose to watch the game instead!”
A few clapped, and laughter rippled through the crowd. That’s when Todd finally turned around, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Claire! What are you doing?” he hissed, glancing nervously back at his friends.
I ignored him and focused on the curious crowd. “Do you like ham? There’s cake too!”
Just then, the door swung open, and in walked our families—his parents, my parents, his sister, and our cousins.
They scanned the room, taking in the spread I had set up and the laughter of patrons enjoying what was meant to be a fancy dinner.
Todd’s mom approached him, looking puzzled. “Todd, what’s going on? Claire told us to meet here for dinner on your birthday. Why are you in a bar?”
His face turned crimson. “Uh, Mom, it’s complicated,” he mumbled.
“Oh, I’d love to explain!” I interjected. “Todd chose to watch the game instead of attending the birthday dinner he asked me to plan!”
His dad shook his head, murmuring, “How disrespectful.”
Meanwhile, my mom grabbed a plate. “This smells amazing! Let’s eat!”
Soon, we all joined the other patrons, feasting on the meal I had worked so hard to prepare. Todd’s friends were still teasing him, and the bar transformed into a lively celebration.
As I unveiled the cake, I had written in bold frosting: Happy Birthday to My Selfish Husband!
Laughter erupted throughout the bar, but Todd’s expression was anything but joyful.
“Was that really necessary, Claire?” he muttered under his breath.
“Absolutely,” I replied with a sweet smile.
After everyone finished, I began packing up the empty trays. The bartender stopped me, saying, “Ma’am, you’re a legend. If you ever come back, drinks are on me—not him!”
I laughed. “Thanks! I’ll definitely return.”
As the evening wrapped up, our families left, my dad giving me a proud nod while Todd’s mom reminded him that he could have done better.
On the drive home, Todd sulked in the passenger seat. “You made me look bad in front of everyone!” he exclaimed.
“No, Todd,” I shot back. “You made yourself look bad. And just so you know, don’t expect another home-cooked meal anytime soon.”
With that, he fell silent. I could see he knew he couldn’t argue with me anymore. When we got home, he stomped off to his room, leaving me feeling both victorious and relieved.
Two weeks have passed since that night. Todd has been acting differently—more considerate, perhaps a bit afraid I might pull another stunt. His unreasonable demands have lessened, and for the first time, I feel like I’ve regained some control in our relationship.
What would you have done if you were in my position?