For two years, my husband had this annoying habit: he’d casually announce that his family was “dropping by” with almost no notice — which really meant I had to scramble to clean, cook, and entertain.
One peaceful Saturday, he told me, “My family’s coming over in four hours. Just a small thing.” Then he handed me a long checklist: clean the kitchen, grocery shop, cook dinner and dessert, even wipe down the baseboards.
I smiled and said, “Sure, I’ll run to the store.” But once I got there, I took my time — sipped a latte, wandered the aisles, did nothing productive.
Hours later, I came home to chaos: half-cleaned rooms, screaming kids, burnt frozen pizza on the table, and my husband frantically trying to make store-bought cheesecake look fancy.
His face was priceless. “Where have you been?” he gasped.
I poured a glass of wine and said, “You told me to go to the store. So I went.”
That night, I didn’t lift a finger. His mom looked judgmental, but I didn’t care.
The next morning? My husband cleaned the kitchen himself. Since then, no more last-minute hosting surprises. Lesson learned.
