At first, I thought he was just practical with money — but then it got ridiculous.
He refuses to split groceries evenly — if he doesn’t eat something, like yogurt or almond milk, that’s MY expense.
He won’t chip in for cleaning supplies, claiming I use more since I’m the one cleaning.
It’s getting exhausting, and I often find myself paying just to avoid another debate.
But then came THE LAST STRAW. ⬇️
It was the electricity bill.
One evening, he sat down with a notepad and a calculator. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, tapping the pen against his temple. “I don’t use the hair dryer, the straightener, or even the kitchen lights as much as you do. So, technically, you should be covering a bigger portion of the electricity bill.”
I laughed at first, waiting for him to crack a smile, but he was dead serious.
“You’re joking, right?” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “I’m just being fair.”
I stared at him, feeling something inside me snap. We were supposed to be partners, a team. But this? This wasn’t a marriage; this was a business contract gone wrong.
I thought about all the times I had covered his share without complaint—when he bought expensive protein powder that only he used, the extra-long showers he took, the nights I drove him to work because he didn’t want to pay for gas. I had never once calculated his usage down to the last cent. But apparently, he had no problem doing that to me.
So, I decided to give him a taste of his own logic.
“Okay,” I said, setting my phone down. “Let’s do this your way.”
He seemed pleased, mistaking my calm for agreement.
I pulled out my own notepad. “Since you don’t use the hairdryer, that’s my cost. Got it. But let’s go further. You use the gaming console, right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“And you use it way more than I do. So, the electricity it takes to run that? Your cost.”
His brow furrowed. “Well, that’s different—”
“Oh, and hot water,” I continued. “You take showers twice as long as mine. So, that portion of the water bill? Yours.”
“Wait—”
“And let’s not forget the internet. I mainly use it for work, but you stream movies and play online games, so technically, your share should be—”
“Alright, I get it!” he snapped, throwing his pen down.
“No,” I said, looking him straight in the eyes. “I don’t think you do.”
Silence.
I let it sink in. For the first time, he saw the absurdity of his so-called fairness.
He ran a hand over his face, exhaling. “Okay, maybe I’ve been a little… extreme.”
“A little?” I raised an eyebrow.
He sighed. “Alright. A lot.”
That night, we had a long talk—not just about bills, but about what it means to be in a marriage. It wasn’t about who owed who what. It was about supporting each other, picking up where the other left off, and trusting that things would balance out in the end.
In the days that followed, something shifted. He started contributing without nitpicking. If I bought groceries, he covered dinner. If I cleaned, he handled the dishes. It was no longer a competition of “who used what.” It was teamwork.
And that’s what a marriage should be.
If you’re in a relationship where your partner is treating shared responsibilities like a transaction, ask yourself: Is this the partnership you want? Love isn’t about keeping score—it’s about playing on the same team.
What do you think? Have you ever dealt with something like this? Let me know in the comments! And if this story resonated with you, don’t forget to like and share. ❤️
