My husband thought $50 was enough for Christmas dinner. I made sure he learned his lesson in front of his entire family.
Mark had a way of making holiday hosting feel like my burden, not ours. But when he threw a crumpled fifty at me and said, “Don’t screw this up,” something inside me snapped.
Instead of arguing, I played along. “Of course, honey. I’ll make it magical.”
Then I called a caterer.
By Christmas Day, our house looked like a winter wonderland, complete with gourmet dishes, fine china, and a cake that could’ve been on a magazine cover. Mark strutted around, taking credit—until I stood up and announced the real cost to his stunned family.
His mother was mortified. His brothers laughed. And as I handed him the receipt for my solo spa getaway, I smiled. “Consider this my gift to myself.”
Watching him scrub pans that night? Priceless.
