When I saw my husband helping our new teenage neighbor carry boxes after telling me he was “too busy” to pick me up from the grocery store, I didn’t yell or make a scene. I simply smiled, walked inside, and started planning the perfect way to teach him a lesson he’d never forget.
The Feeling That Something Was Off
You know that feeling that something isn’t right, but you ignore it because you don’t want to be that wife?
Yeah. That was me.
Until last Saturday.
That morning, when I pressed the gas pedal, my car made a horrible creaking noise. I decided it was better to be safe than end up stranded on the side of the road, so I parked it in the driveway and took an Uber to the grocery store instead.
I did a massive grocery haul.
My cart was packed to the brim, and my back was already aching from reaching into the deep freezer aisle to grab Greg’s favorite buy-one-get-one-free frozen pizzas.
On top of the heavy bags and a gallon of milk, I also thought it would be a brilliant idea to buy a massive watermelon—just because it was on sale.
When I loaded the last bag into the cart, I realized how exhausted I was.
The thought of carrying all of this to the Uber pickup spot at the far end of the parking lot and then dragging everything home made me want to sit down on the grocery store floor right then and there. So I did what any wife would do—I called my husband.
He answered after a few rings, sounding distracted.
“Hey babe, can you pick me up from the store? I went a little overboard, and these bags are way too heavy,” I said, trying to sound sweet rather than desperate.
“Wait… where’s your car?” Greg asked.
“I didn’t want to risk it. It’s been making that weird rattling noise again, so I left it at home and took an Uber.”
“Ugh, Lauren, I can’t right now,” he said, irritated. “I’m swamped. Just take an Uber or something.”
“Seriously? It’s just a five-minute drive,” I said, feeling my jaw tighten.
“Babe, I said I can’t. I have a million things to do. Just handle it, okay?”
Click.
I stared at my phone in shock. Did he just hang up on me?
“Need some help?” an elderly gentleman passing by asked.
“No, thank you. I’ve got it,” I replied with a forced smile, thinking about how my own husband couldn’t be bothered.
By the time I got home, my arms were sore, and my mood was ruined. The Uber driver had been nice enough to help me load the bags into the car, but he wasn’t about to carry them into my house.
I didn’t blame him. That wasn’t his job.
It was my husband’s.
The Moment of Truth
But what I saw next…
Took me from annoyed to absolutely furious.
I spotted Greg, my “too busy” husband, outside.
Carrying suitcases.
Lifting heavy boxes.
Smiling like a chivalrous knight.
And who was he helping?
Our new neighbor, Emma.
Emma, young and beautiful. Emma, who had just moved in three houses down. Emma, whose moving truck I had noticed that morning before heading to the grocery store.
I sat frozen in the Uber, watching the scene unfold. Greg was laughing at something Emma had said. He lifted another box with ease, completely unbothered by the fact that, just minutes ago, he had refused to carry a few grocery bags for his own wife.
Oh, Greg… You just messed up big time.
But I didn’t storm over there. No. That would have been too easy.
Instead, I took a deep breath, collected my bags, and walked inside as if nothing had happened.
I needed a plan.
And oh, did I come up with a great one.
The Lesson Begins
I unloaded the groceries while mentally finalizing my plan.
“Hey,” Greg said casually when he walked in. “How was the store?”
“Fine,” I replied steadily. “Got everything we needed.”
“Did you manage all the bags?” he asked, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.
I bit my tongue. “Yep. The Uber driver was nice.”
I didn’t mention the neighbor.
Instead, as he walked past, I casually said, “Oh, by the way, the car’s still making that weird noise. Can you check it out tomorrow?”
“Yeah, maybe later this week,” he said, scrolling through his phone. “I’m slammed.”
Right.
I waited exactly one day before executing the next part of my plan.
The Payback
The next morning, while Greg was still asleep (he always slept in on Sundays), I called James.
James is our other neighbor. He’s in his fifties, retired early as a mechanic, and unlike Greg, James never refuses to help his wife.
I’ve seen him carry her gardening tools, fix things around their house, and even hold her purse at the neighborhood block party. A true gentleman.
“Good morning, Lauren! What can I do for you?” James answered cheerfully.
“James, I hate to bother you, but my car’s making a strange noise, and Greg has been really busy lately…” I let my voice trail off suggestively.
“Say no more! I’ll be right over to take a look.”
Two hours later, Greg walked outside, rubbing his eyes. He froze when he saw James in our driveway.
I stood next to James, chatting, smiling, twirling my hair.
Greg’s eyes narrowed as he walked toward us.
“What’s going on?” he asked, crossing his arms.
I smiled sweetly. “Oh, James was kind enough to check my car since you were so busy.”
James looked up and waved. “Morning, Greg! Just helping Lauren out with this noise she’s hearing. Sounds like it might be the timing belt.”
Greg clenched his jaw. I could see the jealousy brewing, but he couldn’t say a thing.
Not after bending over backward for Emma yesterday.
“I could have looked at it,” Greg muttered.
“But you’re so busy,” I reminded him with an innocent smile.
The Final Blow
Since that day, Greg has magically found time to help around the house again.
Last week, I asked him to pick me up from Target—he showed up in less than five minutes.
Yesterday, he noticed the trash was full and took it out without me asking.
This morning, he fixed the leaky faucet I had casually mentioned last week.
I’ve learned my lesson.
Sometimes, men only realize what they have when they get a taste of their own medicine.
Would you agree?