For two years, my husband had a habit of springing surprise family visits on me—expecting me to clean, cook, and entertain with zero notice.
But this time? I didn’t play along.
On a calm Saturday, he walked in grinning: “My family’s coming in four hours.” Then handed me a chore list like I was staff.
I smiled, grabbed my purse, and said I’d go to the store.
I went to Target—and stayed there. Got a latte, browsed aimlessly, and enjoyed peace for once. Hours later, I texted: “Still at the store. Traffic’s wild.”
When I finally came home, the place was a disaster—burnt pizza, crying kids, and my husband desperately decorating store-bought cheesecake.
His face? Priceless.
“You told me to go to the store,” I said, sipping wine. “So I went.”
That night, I didn’t lift a finger. And guess what? He got the message.
The next day, he cleaned. Weeks later, he asked to plan the next visit together.
He hasn’t pulled that stunt since.
