My Husband Tossed Our Dishes to Avoid Washing Them – After My Epic Lesson, He Begged to Handle All the Chores

My Husband Throws Away Our Dishes So He Won’t Have to Do Them — After My Epic Lesson He Asked to Be in Charge of All Chores

What is the most outrageous thing your spouse has done, ladies, to avoid doing chores? Mine threw away our dishes in secret! Find out how my shrewd lesson turned him into the household chore guru.

I never imagined myself to be the kind of wife who would resort to deceit, but I guess that’s what happens when things get desperate. I’m Shannon, forty-five years old, and have been married to my wonderful husband Andrew for nearly twenty years. I used to think that we were the ideal pair, but then I found out about his dark secret.

I felt like the ideal couple, living out our own fantasy with Andrew. We had divided up the housework, with him picking up the dishes every Tuesday and Thursday.

He had said, “I won’t let you down,” and had a lovely smile. I wish I had understood back then how meaningless those words would sound.

It all began on a Tuesday night. My feet hurt and my mind was racing after a demanding workday when I arrived home. My favorite mug, which my best friend Jess got me for my birthday last year, was all I wanted to drink: chamomile tea.

I padded over to the kitchen, unlocked the cupboard, and grabbed the well-known blue porcelain. I reached out and grabbed at the void. I scowled and threw aside more dishes, plates, and glasses. Not successful.

“Hey, Andy?” I yelled. “Have you seen my blue mug?”

A frown on his face, Andrew materialized in the doorway. “The one from Jess?” He gave his head a scratch. “I believe it broke some time ago. I apologize, sweetie. I neglected to bring it up.”

I gazed at him while a persistent uncertainty crept into my thoughts. “Are you certain? I swear I used it just last week.”

With a shrug, he turned away already. “Perhaps you’re seeing a different cup. Do you want tea made for you in another one?”

I said, “No, it’s okay,” and settled for a simple white mug. I couldn’t get rid of the uneasy sensation I had as I sipped my tea.

“Hi, Andy? You promised to do the dishes today, didn’t you? I enquired.

His voice returned from the kitchen like a cloud. “Done, lady. I have everything under control.”

A few days later, I noticed something shimmering while I was bringing out the trash. I put down the bag and looked inside the trashcan out of curiosity.

As I reached in and extracted the broken remnants of my cherished blue mug, my heart fell.

“What the hell?” I turned the chipped cup over in my hands and whispered. This was no mishap. It had been an intentional smash to the mug.

I felt a surge of anger, but I suppressed it. It was not accusations I needed, but explanations.

I watched closely the next time Andrew was expected to “do the dishes.” I stole to the garbage can as soon as he went for work.

My suspicions were validated when I discovered two plates, hardly damaged but otherwise completely functional, tucked away among the trash.

I was completely taken aback to learn that Andrew had been discarding our dishes rather than cleaning them.

With trembling palms, I grabbed the kitchen counter’s edge and marched back inside. How much time had this been ongoing? His indolence had cost us how many dishes?

My phone buzzed just then. Andrew texted me, saying, “I hope today is going well for you, sweetie. I cherish you.”

I gazed at the display. I was CRAZY. then was a part of me that wanted to confront him then and then, but there was also a sneakier, more spiteful part of me that had a different idea.

I replied back, “Love you too,” my brain working on a strategy already. “By the way, did you remember to do the dishes last night?”

He promptly responded, saying, “Of course! Everything finished and stored.”

Grinning, I typed out my reply. “Honey, you’re the greatest. Without you, how would I manage?”

Over the course of the following week, I devised a scheme that would have made Harry Houdini proud: a devious performance that would make Andrew doubt his sanity.

Just a little magical realism to liven up our kitchen drama, nothing harsh, mind you. It was time to test my husband’s tolerance for a dose of his own medicine, delivered on a dish that was never clean.

Every time Andrew “did the dishes,” I would swap out the things that were thrown away for similar, filthy ones. I had purchased extra dishes and bowls from our regular use specifically for this use.

I caught a glimpse of Andrew’s tuneless whistling as he entered the kitchen on Thursday night. The sight of the sink caused him to stop short.

His head scratching, he mumbled, “What the—” “I could’ve sworn I washed these yesterday.”

I raised my head from my phone to look at the picture of purity. “Everything okay, honey?”

His expression was one of bewilderment as he pointed to the sink. “Didn’t I do these dishes already?”

I shrugged and gestured to the sink filled with soiled dishes while trying to maintain a neutral attitude.

“Well, hon, is that what you refer to as DOING THE DISHES? Perhaps you’re just worn out. You are aware of how difficult employment can be.”

Andrew frowned as he slowly nodded. “Yeah, maybe that’s it.” With a groan, he rolled up his sleeves. “Guess I’ll do them again.”

I let out a tiny, victorious smile as he turned to face the sink. “Andy, you’re such a cutie. Without you, I don’t know what I would do.”

He laughed, but it sounded artificial. “Right back at you, Shan.”

Days passed, and Andrew’s perplexity increased. There seemed to be more and more dishes waiting for him every time he checked the sink.

The dark bags under his eyes and the way his smile stopped short of his eyes were signs that he was under stress.

One evening, as we were eating supper, Andrew was deep in concentration as he moved his food around his plate.

He finally said, “Shan,” in a timid voice. “Have you noticed anything… weird lately?”

I arched an eyebrow. “Weird how, honey?”

Placing his fork aside, he ran a hand over his hair. “I’m not sure. Just the dishes, that’s all. They never seem to stay clean, even though I swear I constantly washing them. Am I going crazy?

I almost felt bad for a second. Nearly. But then I thought of my broken mug, all the plates and bowls thrown out like trash, and Andrew’s never-ending lie-telling.

I extended my hand across the table and grasped his hand. “Ah, Andy. You’ve put in a lot of effort lately. Perhaps you’re simply worn out.”

He gave me a gentle squeeze and a flimsy smile. Yes, perhaps that is it. Shan, I just feel like I’m losing my mind.”

One week into my undercover observation, the breaking point came.

I pretended to get lost in my phone as Andrew worked on the most recent dishes. I caught a glimpse of him lifting a dish, looking at it, and then throwing it into the black trash bag.

He hesitated as he was ready to go outside and dump it in the garbage can. His face flashed a complicated mix of uncertainty, guilt, and frustration, and I held my breath.

He sighed heavily and went back to the sink to finish washing.

It was unbelievable to me. Had my strategy really worked?

Andrew was almost robotic as he carefully cleaned every plate. Upon completion, he faced me, looking defeated.

“Shan,” he said. “I think… I think we should get a dishwasher.”

I blinked, trying to look surprised. “A dishwasher? However, I believed you like doing the dishes by hand.”

With a puzzled expression, he shook his head. “I think I need help, Shan. These plates seem to be growing in number. Even if I swear I wash them, they still come back filthy. It defies explanation.”

I bit my lip to keep from grinning. “Ah, Andy. You’ve been exerting a lot of effort recently.

Frustrated, he raked his hands through his hair. “I realize this sounds extreme, but I’m not kidding. Hey, how about I take care of everything for a bit? Perhaps if I try everything else, I’ll be able to solve the problem. We also need to get a dishwasher. It could be useful for whatever this is.

I feigned to think about his proposal. “Well… if you really think it’ll help…”

Andrew enthusiastically nodded. “Yes, I do. Shan, I swear to you. I intend to unravel this riddle.”

I got to my feet and encircled him with my arms. “All right, Andy. Hey, maybe it will be therapeutic to finish all the chores. Assist you in relaxing after work, please?”

He gave a tense laugh. Yes, perhaps. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even grow to appreciate it.”

I couldn’t help but smile as we stood there in our kitchen, surrounded by the “mysteriously” reappearing dirty dishes. A little mischief can occasionally result in a great deal of resolution.

Who knows? Andrew might actually come to appreciate handling EVERY household chore! (Giggle!) After all, stranger things have happened!

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