I thought I was being a devoted wife, preparing a big birthday dinner for my husband Todd’s 35th birthday. But just as guests started arriving, he dropped a bombshell: he was skipping the celebration to watch the game at a bar. What happened next? Let’s just say I wasn’t about to let him have the last word.
After six years of marriage, I figured Todd would appreciate the effort I put into his birthdays. But no — every year I gave my all, and every year, he brushed it off.
This time, though, his sense of entitlement hit a whole new level.
Don’t get me wrong, Todd has his good moments — he can be charming, and we’ve shared some great times. But one thing drives me crazy: his entitlement.
Take last Thanksgiving, for example. Todd suddenly decided we should host dinner for both our families. “Claire,” he said with a grin, “You handle the important stuff. I’ll take care of drinks or something.” I should have seen the red flags but went along anyway.
I spent two weeks planning and prepping while Todd mostly ignored the work, occasionally asking if I needed anything. On the big day, I did all the cooking and decorating. Todd? He carried a cooler of beer into the living room — that was it.
After dinner, when everyone was complimenting the meal, Todd claimed credit: “Glad you all enjoyed it. I wanted this to be special.” I called him out on it, but he just ignored me. That’s Todd — taking credit without doing the work.
Then last year, for his birthday, I made a personalized photo album filled with memories. When he opened it, he asked, “Where’s the real gift?” That broke something inside me. The man who once wrote me poetry had become so ungrateful.
Then came his 35th birthday — the final straw.
Todd asked for a “big, proper birthday dinner,” telling me to invite everyone but make sure it was “decent” so he wouldn’t be embarrassed. He left the planning entirely to me, claiming work was overwhelming.
I spent two weeks preparing a classy, impressive feast — spinach-stuffed chicken, fancy sides, a three-layer chocolate cake with edible gold flakes. I cleaned, decorated, borrowed extra chairs, and organized every detail. Todd? Nada.
On the day of the party, Todd walked in, glanced at the spread, said “Looks good,” then announced he was heading to the bar to watch the game with his friends — telling me to cancel everything.
I was crushed. After all my effort and love, he just walked out.
But I refused to cancel. If he wanted to act selfish, fine. I took the food to the bar where he was, set it up, and invited everyone to eat.
His friends, family, and strangers watched as I turned his birthday dinner into a party — right under his nose. When Todd protested, I just served the food with a smile.
By the end of the night, the bar was buzzing. I even had the cake decorated with “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SELFISH HUSBAND!” written in frosting. The place erupted with laughter. Todd wasn’t thrilled, but the message was clear.
Since then, Todd’s attitude has softened a bit. No apologies, but less entitlement. He seems a little afraid I might pull another stunt.
I’m not the wife who lets him get away with disrespect anymore. If that’s all I’ve accomplished, it’s enough for me.
What would you have done in my place?
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