When my husband called bathroom cleaning “women’s work,” I decided to teach him a lesson. With his Xbox, my cousin’s cleaning magic, and a sharp exit, I left him stunned and changed our marriage. I missed the red flags with Mike in our two years together. Love blinded me to his flaws. Mike was great—surprising me with chocolates, cracking jokes, and remembering anniversaries. Friends called him a keeper, and I nodded. As a teacher, I worked hard, but Mike, a coder, took on outdoor tasks like trash and car fixes without a peep. Outside was his zone, but inside? That was mine.
I scrubbed floors and cooked after work while Mike gamed. “You deserve a break,” I’d say, brushing off my exhaustion. I thought I was supportive, not enabling. Then I got pregnant. Holding the test, I yelled, “Mike!” He ran in, and my news brought a huge grin. “A baby?” he asked, hugging me. His excitement thrilled me. Mike was a kid magnet, always entertaining my niece. He went to every doctor visit, set up the nursery, and bought tiny socks, amazed by their size. He hung stars on the ceiling and brought me soup during nausea. I thought we’d be true partners as parents.
Our daughter, Ava, came after a tough delivery. Mike teared up, touching her tiny hand. “She’s amazing, Lisa,” he said. He took leave, rocking Ava at night and changing diapers like a pro. We split cooking and laundry, and I thought he’d changed. But back at work, he slipped. He’d cuddle Ava, then game for hours, saying, “Work’s brutal.” I handled all chores and Ava’s care, bone-tired. “It’ll pass,” I told myself. Then I caught a bad flu, barely able to move. “Mike, I’m sick,” I said, holding Ava. “Can you clean the bathroom and take her?”
He grimaced. “That’s women’s stuff. I don’t do toilets.” I stared. “Really?” He nodded. “You’re good at it.” Fuming, I called my cousin, Tara, a cleaner. “Come Monday,” I said. “I’ll pay.” Tara, grateful for my past help, agreed. Monday, she made our house gleam, especially the bathroom. I paid her well, packed for Ava and me, and waited. Mike came home, saying, “You cleaned!” I grinned. “Nope. Tara did. I sold your Xbox for $850 to pay her, since cleaning’s my job.” He gaped. “You sold it?” I nodded. “Ava and I are at Mom’s for two days. Do the laundry.” His shock was epic.
After two days, I found a clean house, folded clothes, and a sorry Mike. He vowed to share chores, his attitude gone. I smiled, knowing my move taught him teamwork. Sometimes, selling a toy wakes a husband up to what marriage really means.
