Last Saturday, I discovered something I never expected. After claiming he was “too busy” to pick me up from the grocery store with my heavy bags, my husband, Greg, was out on the sidewalk—smiling and helping our attractive new neighbor, Emma, move boxes and suitcases. Instead of causing a scene or confronting him immediately, I simply smiled, went inside, and began plotting a way to make him realize how his actions affected me.
It all started that morning when my car began rattling badly whenever I accelerated. Fearing it might break down, I left it in the driveway and took an Uber to the store. I ended up doing a massive grocery run, filling my cart with enough food for two weeks—heavy bags, a gallon of milk, and even a huge watermelon on sale. Exhausted and with my arms aching, I called Greg to pick me up.
He answered after a few rings, distracted and annoyed. “Where’s your car?” he asked. I explained that I’d left it due to the rattling noise, but then he snapped, “Ugh, Lauren, I can’t right now. I’m swamped. Just take an Uber or something.” His tone made it seem like I was asking him to drive across the country rather than a quick five-minute trip. So, I ended up loading all the bags myself—despite a kind offer from an elderly man passing by—and dragged them home, already feeling upset.
When I finally arrived at our driveway, what I saw made my heart sink. There was Greg, the “too busy” husband, outside carrying suitcases and heavy boxes with a big smile on his face—all while helping Emma, our new neighbor who’s young, blonde, and stunning. I sat frozen in the Uber, seething as I watched him laugh and chat with her, playing the part of a chivalrous helper.
I didn’t confront him then. Instead, I took a deep breath, collected my grocery bags, and walked inside while my mind raced with ideas for a little payback.
Once home, I unloaded the groceries, my mind already working on a plan. Later, when Greg came in, he casually asked how my store trip went, and I simply replied, “Fine, got everything we needed.” I didn’t mention a thing about the neighbor. Instead, as he passed by, I offhandedly remarked that our car was still making that weird noise and needed checking out soon. He brushed it off, saying he was too busy and would get to it later.
The next day, while Greg was still sleeping in on a lazy Sunday, I called our helpful neighbor James—a retired mechanic known for always lending a hand—and told him our car was making strange noises, since Greg was too busy these days. James immediately agreed to come over and check it out. A few hours later, as Greg stepped out, he was surprised to see James in our driveway. I stood nearby, chatting pleasantly with James, while Greg’s face darkened with jealousy and confusion. James explained that it might be a timing belt issue and advised that we have it checked at a shop soon. Greg mumbled that he could have handled it himself but admitted he’d been too busy.
That evening, I made sure Greg noticed I wasn’t relying on him for anything. When a lightbulb burned out in the living room, instead of calling him, I fetched the stepladder and changed it myself—even though he remarked he would’ve done it if asked. Later, when the trash needed taking out, I did it without a word, casually mentioning how other men—like the mailman or the grocery store bagger—had been so helpful. Each time, I could see his annoyance mounting.
After dinner, I casually added that James had even offered to mow our lawn if Greg was too busy. That was the final straw. Greg finally exploded, asking what was going on with all these mentions of help from other men. I looked him straight in the eye and said, “Oh, I just realized something interesting—you had time to help Emma move her boxes, but you couldn’t spare five minutes to pick up your wife from the store?” His face drained of color as he stammered an explanation—that Emma had asked him for help while he was getting the mail, and he couldn’t say no. I pointed out that he could have easily refused her, and sarcastically asked if he’d be just as “helpful” if Emma were a 60-year-old woman. With no answer, Greg slumped onto the couch, unable to meet my gaze.
I left the room without another word, letting silence speak for itself. Later, I heard him call after me, but I kept walking. Since that day, things have changed—Greg has started to help around the house more consistently. He now picks me up promptly from Target, takes out the trash without being asked, and even fixed a leaky faucet I mentioned in passing.
Sometimes, a little taste of their own medicine is exactly what it takes for someone to realize what they have right in front of them.