My Husband Hired a Woman to Teach Me Cooking and Cleaning — He Wasn’t Prepared for My Revenge

My Husband Hired a Woman to Teach Me How to Clean and Cook – He Didn’t Like My Payback

When my husband Jeff brought in a maid to “teach” me how to cook and clean like a perfect wife, I was blown away. I didn’t argue, I just went along. Jeff was unaware of the lesson I had in store for him, one that would completely upend his carefully thought-out strategy.

I’m Leighton, 32, and I manage a busy household, a full-time career, and a 34-year-old husband who has recently developed an intense interest in the ideal “perfect wife” role.

Jeff and I both have tough professions; I work in marketing, so by the time I come home, my brain is fried, and he works in finance, where quarterly reports are a continual source of stress. Jeff’s expectations have skyrocketed lately, so you’d think we’d give each other a break.

Everything began with that fateful supper at his boss Tom’s house. Susan, Tom’s wife, welcomed us with a kind grin while sporting an immaculately ironed dress that likely cost more than my college rent. Her residence? Perfect. Not a trace of dust, not a throw pillow gone astray.

Not to mention the five-course dinner she prepared with the ease of someone who had been born with a spatula in hand. Jeff kept staring at her.

“See how Susan maintains organization throughout? Jeff, full of adoration, had stated on the drive back, “Dinner’s ready the minute Tom gets home.” “You could take a few pointers.”

Tom wasn’t done yet, so I bit my tongue and avoided rolling my eyes by gazing out the window. “How about giving it a go a bit more? How hard can it be to maintain order when you arrive home before me, really?”

The parallels continued. There was a fresh criticism every day. Susan maintains a tidy home. Susan has time to prepare homemade pasta. Susan always has a polished appearance.”

He would say this as he left his plates where he had just finished dining or as he threw his filthy clothing into the laundry basket two feet away.

He arrived home one evening and, like a drill sergeant, went about examining the house right away. With a pout, he traced his finger down the windowsill. “You overlooked a place. Do you even make an effort?”

I looked up from my laptop, trying not to get too angry. “Seriously, Jeff?”

He gave a shrug. “Maybe you could exert a bit more effort, I’m just saying.” It’s not as though you’re short on time.

His new favorite line was that one. It’s not as though you lack time. As like my travel and workday weren’t as exhausting as his. But one Friday night was the last straw.

Dreaming of a nice shower and some relaxation, I entered our kitchen to see a young woman working there. She had an apron on and was holding a mop; her eyes were fluttering wildly, as if she had gone into the wrong house by accident.

Jeff grinned smugly as he stood next to her with his arms crossed. “Marianne, meet Leighton. She is here to instruct you in good cleaning and cooking techniques.”

I blinked in an attempt to take in what I was hearing. “I apologize. instruct me?”

Like he was speaking to a recalcitrant child, Jeff groaned. Yes, my dear. I’ve tried to be patient, but it’s obvious that you don’t understand. Susan recommended that I find someone to assist you in catching up. Thus, here we are.

Marianne looked from me to Jeff and back again. With an almost regretful tone, she replied gently, “I usually just… you know, clean houses.” “He offered me double if I’d show you how.”

I turned to face Jeff, struggling to maintain a steady tone. “So, you’re paying her to teach me to clean and cook?”

He nodded, unaware all the time. Yes. You may fully get the hang of things in this way. Don’t hold back, Marianne.”

I was itching to yell. Could this man who never did anything at all have the gall to pay someone to teach me how to clean? Marianne looked uncomfortable, as though she had been coerced into an unusual reality television program.

I gritted my teeth and feigned a grin. Jeff, I’m sure I still have a lot to learn. I appreciate your concern for me.”

Jeff strode out, feeling proud of himself, while Marianne appeared prepared to run. I lowered my voice and leaned closer. “Hey, I don’t require instruction. However, I do have a small proposal that needs some assistance. Are you willing to play?”

Marianne’s eyes brightened with curiosity. “What do you have in mind?”

I grinned and began to plan. “Let’s just say Jeff’s about to learn a lesson of his own.”

I offered Jeff everything he’d been requesting over the course of the following few weeks: the ideal housewife. I got up early every day, made his breakfast, scrubbed the house until it was spotless, and prepared extravagant dinners that would have looked good enough to be on a food show.

Every evening, I would even get dressed up and greet him at the door with a grin that almost reached my eyes.

But I felt as chilly as stone. I didn’t bother or bemoan, but I also didn’t participate. Not even a casual laugh, not even loving touches or chats about my day. I was just going through the motions, yet I ended up looking like the epitome of domestic perfection. Jeff quickly realized that something wasn’t right.

One evening, he was standing at the kitchen door, saying, “Hey, babe,” as I was cooking a three-course dinner. “Recently, you have been quiet. Is everything in order?

I spoke in a kind but detached tone, hardly looking up. “Jeff, I’m good. Just like you requested, preoccupied with the house.”

His forehead wrinkled. You don’t need to devote yourself to this much. It’s amazing, but it feels like you’re not really here.”

I shrugged and arranged the table methodically. “I’m just focusing on what you asked me to do, Jeff.”

He gave a nod, but it was clear he was perplexed. Was this what he really wanted? Perfect dinners, a perfect wife, and a perfect home. However, I was failing to provide him with the warmth that usually satisfied him, and it was beginning to get to him.

Days passed, and I continued with my behavior. Everything was completed without a hitch, but our relationship? It sounded as chilly and robotic as a practiced play. Jeff didn’t know how to bridge the gap between us, but I knew he could sense it. I also had no intention of making it simple for him.

Then the day arrived that I had been preparing for weeks. I cleared the plates after supper, which was totally silent, and turned to grin at him. “Jeff, we need to talk.”

With a hesitant smile tugging on his lips, he glanced up. “What’s up?”

I positioned a neatly folded piece of paper on the table and sat across from him. “This idea of the ‘ideal housewife’ has been on my mind a lot. My eyes were awakened to the amount of labor involved in running a family such as this one by Marianne. Really, it’s a full-time job.”

Jeff scowled, unsure of my intended direction. “Uh, okay?”

“Well, I’ve made up my mind,” I said cheerfully. “I’m going to quit my job and focus on this full-time.”

His mouth fell open. “You’re quitting your job?”

With enthusiasm, I nodded. “Yes! You desired a perfectly clean home, homemade food, and impeccable service. I have to commit all of my time to doing that. The catch is that I am unable to perform it for free.”

Perplexed, he blinked. “Wait, what do you mean ‘can’t do it for free?'”

I slid the paper in his direction. It was a typewritten document that stated my new conditions.

“I ought to get paid if I give up my career. Tom is Susan’s supporter because she does not work. Thus, you will have to provide me a salary. I believe that this is equitable.

His expression changed from perplexed to furious as he looked at me. “You want to get paid by me? “Leighton, this is ridiculous.”

I spoke in a gentle tone, but my words were tinged with cold. Yes, but it makes whole logic. You expected me to be the ideal wife, and I have been. However, Jeff, perfection isn’t free. I should be paid if you want me to keep the house up to your standards. It’s okay if you’re not willing to pay. I’ll just give up on it.”

His face had lost its color as he stared at me. “I didn’t ask you to give up your work! This is not what I wanted.”

I reclined with my arms folded, relishing each moment. Yes, Jeff, but you did. You desired a home that resembled Susan’s, meals that mirrored hers, and a spouse who devoted her whole existence to taking care of the home. All I’m doing is what you asked me to do. However, I also have standards, and there is a cost involved in wanting this degree of commitment.”

A lengthy, anxious stillness fell. Jeff clutched the contract, his gaze fixed on the huge pay. When he realized he’d dug himself into a hole he couldn’t easily climb out of, I could see the gears working.

He muttered, finally, “This isn’t what I meant! I put in a lot of effort at work every day. I’m running out of time to get things done around here.

I got up and spoke in a calm but firm tone. “Exactly. You can now feel what it’s like. Maybe you should start helping out more around the house if you’re not prepared to pay me. Maybe you could take Marianne on a full-time position. After all, she’s fantastic.”

I left him sitting there, dumbfounded and agitated.

After that day, Jeff’s perspective evolved. Of course, he never did agree to pay me, but he also stopped whining. Suddenly, I wasn’t the only one who had to do the tasks.

Jeff began doing his own laundry, cleaning up after himself, and even preparing dinner a couple of nights a week. I never saw him dragging a finger across the shelves looking for dust, and he never mentioned Susan again.

As it happens, giving someone exactly what they believe they want makes them rapidly learn that the fantasy isn’t quite as delicious as reality. Jeff discovered that the hard way, but in the end, I gained the respect I had always desired.

Ultimately, Jeff was in search of a companion, not an ideal bride. And if getting there required hiring a maid and creating a fictitious contract. That was a valuable lesson, all right.

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