Off The Record
4 Horrible Things Spoiled Husbands Did And The Great Lessons Their Wives Taught Them
Wives are there to remind husbands who is truly in charge when they behave like they are in control of the world! These husbands discovered the hard way that “happy wife, happy life” isn’t just a catchphrase—it’s a way of life—through couch crises and lingerie fights.
Welcome to the Hall of Marriage Mishaps, where the egos of entitled men burst like balloons from the dollar shop! Our courageous spouses transform domestic dramas into hilarious comedies by serving justice with a dash of sarcasm. These stories demonstrate that every great man has a wife who is looking back at the previous week. Get your popcorn ready because it’s time to see spouses discover that karma is a present wrapped in old clothes! 🤣🤣🤣
First Tale: “Sorry Honey, Can’t Pick You Up… My Ego’s In The Way!”
All I wanted was to see my husband Jake’s face at the airport after enduring a demanding week-long conference in Singapore, where I had to contend with jet lag, incessant PowerPoint presentations, and the spiciest street cuisine on the planet.
After six years of marriage, this was our longest period of time apart.
I contacted him as soon as my plane had landed in Chicago, and I had butterflies in my stomach. “Landed! Terminal 3. I am so excited to see you, honeybun! ❤️.”
I wish I had stayed in Singapore after hearing his response: “Baby! I apologize.” Accounting student Katie needed assistance moving her furniture. “Raincheck? 😅”
Katie. Naturally. The sweetheart of the office who, it seems, could not function without my husband’s biceps. The same Katie who seemed to be having a meltdown every time I left town.
Well, two people might play this game. 😈😈😈
I tried not to sound tired and hurt when I spoke to Jake’s best buddy, Chris, over the phone. “Hey, we need an airport rescue. Bringing supper as a token of gratitude!”
Chris, oh my dependable soul, made no hesitations. “I’m headed that way. Yes, Terminal 3?”
I complained to Chris on the way home about Jake’s habit of saving the day for women in need, especially those with the last name of Katie. My jet-lagged brain had started to create a strategy by the time we arrived at my house.
I took my fury out on the kitchen by making all of Jake’s favorite dishes, including my three-hour-long lasagna, homemade garlic bread, and tiramisu that would make an Italian grandmother cry.
The dining area, with its finest china, candles, and roses, is like a set from a romantic movie.
Jake arrived to find Chris seated at our table under the candlelight, receiving a glass of Jake’s special occasion wine.
“What’s… going on?” Jake stammered and regarded us as though he were watching a tennis match.
I smiled like a really brilliant flight attendant. “I just wanted to thank Chris for always being there. In contrast to some people’s furniture relocation service.”
I bragged about Chris’s dependability all during supper. “You know, when I called, Chris answered right away. Isn’t it amazing to have friends that are so trustworthy?” I refilled Chris’s wine glass with purpose. “Someone who prioritizes you over random couch emergencies?”
Jake squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, leaving his lasagna nearly untouched. “Look, Katie really needed—”
“And I truly needed my husband,” I tucked in politely. “Good thing I had a backup!”
As the evening came to a conclusion, Chris was trying not to chuckle into his tiramisu while Jake appeared like he had swallowed a lemon. 😆
The next time Katie needed assistance, Jake inexplicably became afraid of furniture. It’s funny how that functions.
And me? “Thank You Dinners” are a new custom I began for friends who support me when my spouse can’t.
All of a sudden, Jake was the most trustworthy man in Chicago. Petty and pasta can sometimes accompany the best marriage counseling. 😌
Tale 2: 50 Shades of Granny: A Lingerie Lesson in Humility
My husband Rob had been saving every cent for his ideal vehicle, a vintage Mustang, for six months.
This meant that while he was obsessively browsing through car classifieds on Instagram, I had been wearing the same reasonable cotton underwear from Target’s three-pack deal. I had no idea that he had transformed my useful underwear into material for social media.
I found a group chat that made my blood boil faster than a boiler on high one evening while naively charging his phone. I love you.
A picture of my pants was there, in all its cotton splendor, and Rob wrote, “Hey guys! Take a look at wifey’s old underwear! 🩲 Living like a grandmother.” With close-ups of my reasonable beige briefs and the elastic waistbands that, yes, reached my navel, the caption read, “Send help! 😂.” However, comfort is king, isn’t it?
“Did you marry your grandma? 🤣🤣” and “Get this man’s wife some Victoria’s Secret! 😆” were among the gems and laughing emoticons that his friends had returned.
One generous person even suggested creating a GoFundMe for lovely lingerie. How considerate. 😒
I called in the cavalry, his mother Patricia, rather than sobbing into my high-waisted pants.
I showed her the chat over coffee the following morning. I anticipated pity, perhaps indignation. What I saw was a sparkle in her eye that would frighten a villain.
She remarked, “Oh honey,” carefully stirring her coffee, “let’s show him what grannies can do.”
I was wearing a fancy dress that cost exactly one car down payment when Rob got home the following day. His mother was sitting on our couch, beaming like a lottery-winning Cheshire cat.
“Honey!” I spun around in my new attire. You went shopping with your parents. How do I appear?
Rob’s eyes widened. “Whoa! You look really good! Is Versace there?”
“Don’t stress over the price! I made use of your Mustang fund. I mean, I should at least be wealthy if I’m enjoying the granny life, right?”
I took a selfie in my new attire and uploaded it to his group chat before he could reply, saying, “This grandma has style and her husband’s credit card. 💅” PS: “Hello from the retirement home!”
As the alerts began to come in, Rob’s face changed color more than a sunset. His friends were suddenly in awe of “Granny’s fashion sense.” One even inquired as to whether I had a single grandmother he could go out with.
Patricia stood up and rearranged her expensive purse, which the Mustang Fund had also provided. A woman is like a good wine—she only grows better with age, my love. Keep that in mind. and more costly. She gave her shell-shocked kid a wink. “Now, who’s up for some lingerie shopping?”
Since then, Rob’s car fund has changed its name to the “Happy Wife Fund.” What about those old lady pants? I was the one who framed them. Cotton-blend packaging can sometimes contain the best retaliation. 😗
Tale 3: The Day My Man Flu Virus Became My Mother-in-Law’s Boot Camp Cadet
Imagine this: The real flu, not the man-cold kind, is killing me. We’re discussing everything from chills to fever. Like something the cat dragged in, puked, and then dragged back in again, I’m buried beneath blankets.
In the meantime, my husband Pete is using our bedroom to throw a Super Bowl party. Our 55-inch TV was “essential for the full game experience” with his friends, and it seemed that my condition was interfering with his lifestyle.
I could hear them shouting, laughing, and trashing our 1000-thread-count linens with beer spills and buffalo wing sauce through my feverish haze.
Pete dared to say, “Baby, could you grab us some more ice while you’re up?” when I staggered in for more cold medicine. “And perhaps those frozen jalapeño poppers?”
As I stared at him with tissue stuck to my face, I questioned whether I had married someone with the emotional intelligence of a potato or if this was just a fever-induced delusion.
It’s time to unleash the heavy guns. I dialed Eleanor, Pete’s mother, also known as “The Sergeant.”
I had only used this card once in our five years of marriage, and that was when Pete attempted to convert our garage into a makeshift brewery. Pete lost his dignity for a month as a result of Eleanor’s reaction, even if the ensuing explosion only destroyed one wall.
An hour later, Eleanor, wearing sensible shoes, rushed in like a tornado. “PETER SON OF WILSON!”
“As they cheered, the guys frozen. One tried to hide behind a pizza box, I swear. Another, who was 6’2” and wearing a fluorescent jersey, tried to blend in with our drapes.
Eleanor managed our home like a military installation for the next 48 hours. In addition to thoroughly cleaning every surface and disinfecting the restroom, Pete and his buddies discovered more about how to properly care for Egyptian cotton than they ever would have imagined.
One man received a 20-minute lesson on how to fold fitted sheets properly. I believe he shed tears.
Eleanor brought me homemade soup and entertained me with humiliating tales from Pete’s early years while I recuperated like a queen. Did you know that he thought he was a cat for a while? The pictures showed the chef kissing! 😘
Our house was sparkling by the time I recovered, and Pete had become practically Pavlovian when his mother’s ringtone was played. Now when he mentions coming while I’m ill, his buddies disperse like scared birds.
The finest aspect? Pete turns into Florence Nightingale every time I sniffle now. It’s funny how your mother-in-law’s threat can cure selective caretaking syndrome.
Tale 4: How I Became the Lead Singer of My Husband’s Worst Nightmare Band
I had hinted at my upcoming 30th birthday more than a skydiver without a parachute.
During breakfast (“I can’t believe I’m turning 30 next month!”), lunch (“You know, 30 is a big milestone…”), and dinner (“So, any special plans for, oh, I don’t know, May 15th?”), I had made passing references to it.
My husband Mike’s eyes were sparkling with what I assumed was enthusiasm after he promised something special, but it turned out to be the glow of concert tickets in his browsing history. 😤
Spoiler alert: He thought it was special to leave me behind and go to a concert with his coworker Emma, writing, “Happy 30th! Emma and I are going to see The Thunderbolts tonight. She knows how much I adore them and had an extra ticket. Tomorrow, we’ll rejoice! 🎸”
His favorite band, the Thunderbolts, is now Emma’s as well. Coincidence, huh? Almost as amusing as Emma’s apparent transformation from a die-hard rock lover to someone who last month thought Bon Jovi was a kind of pasta. 😏
I contacted my friend Zoe, who also happened to know the management of the venue, instead of sobbing into my birthday cake, which I had to order myself 🙄. We got in after two backstage passes and one sob story.
I brought my finest damsel-in-birthday-distress performance to Ryan, the lead vocalist. “My spouse is here… with another lady, and it’s my 30th birthday. Assist a girl?”
Not only did Ryan, bless his rock star heart, invite me onstage, but he also told the audience that it was my birthday and dedicated their biggest song to me.
“This is for my husband Mike and his ‘friend’ Emma,” I said, grabbing the microphone and invoking my inner tone-deaf rock star. I appreciate the birthday memories.
The audience erupted. Mike seems to want his expensive band tee to swallow him whole. Her shoes quickly captivated Emma.
Mike had promised me a unique birthday party, but unfortunately, his idea of special included third-wheeling at his own wife’s birthday, so I made sure to bring it up during the guitar solo. The crowd jeered. A voice called out, “Dump him, queen!”
“I’m so sorry, I had no idea…” shouted Mike later.
I interrupted him. “Yeah, but didn’t I make it memorable? I hope you have a happy birthday.”
Mike now observes my birthday as if it were a national holiday. He begins preparing months ahead of time and approaches the day with the same respect that is typically shown to disarming bombs.
What about Emma? She claims to exclusively listen to classical music today, having inexplicably developed an aversion to concert settings.
The ideal form of retaliation? I now receive birthday cards from the Thunderbolts each year. Writing, “To our favorite guest singer,” Ryan signs it. Keep up the good work! “🎸”
The Last Laugh! 🤣🤣🤣
Marriage is really simply a complicated game of “Who Can Be The Most Petty?” let’s face it. And we’re winning, ladies! Whether we’re transforming granny pants into victory flags or airport snubs into dinner theater, we’ve demonstrated that retaliation is best enjoyed with a dash of snarky and a heaping of “I told you so.”
The next time you consider putting your friends before your significant other, keep in mind that your wife may quickly transform your “guys night” into a TED Talk about your most embarrassing experiences before you can say, “but the game is on!” 😈
Now Trending:
- Past Presidents’ Physicals: What We Know So Far
- Malia Obama Goes On With A “New Name” In Her Career
- Barron Trump VERY Different In Rare TB Pictures As Melania Shares Details Of His Childhood
Please SHARE this story with Family and Friends and let us know what you think in comments!
