Organizing a celebratory dinner for my husband Todd’s 35th birthday seemed like a supportive gesture. Just as guests were arriving, he informed me he would skip the party to watch the game at a bar. What happened next? Let’s just say, I emerged on top.
After six years of marriage, one might hope for some gratitude. However, Todd appears to lack it completely. Each year, my dedication to celebrating his birthday goes unnoticed by him.
This year, his sense of entitlement was unprecedented.
Indeed, Todd and I have been married for six years.
While our relationship has its good moments, complete with Todd’s charming ways, his sense of entitlement remains frustrating.
Take last Thanksgiving, for example. Todd suggested hosting dinner for our families, a plan he devised during breakfast with a sense of pride.
“Claire,” he declared, “we should host Thanksgiving this year.”
“Alright,” I agreed. “How shall we divide the responsibilities?”
He waved me off, feigning the request was too burdensome.
“You’re brilliant at that sort of thing,” he said. “I’ll handle drinks, perhaps. Just make it unforgettable, promise?”
I should have seen it coming, but I chose to go along with it.
I spent two weeks preparing, while Todd focused on fantasy football, occasionally asking, “Need me to grab anything?”
On the big day, I handled turkey, scrumptious sides, and baked pies.
Todd? He brought the beer cooler to the living room.
After dinner, while everyone praised the food, Todd seized the opportunity to claim credit.
“I’m delighted you all enjoyed it,” he announced. “I aimed for something memorable this year.”
I believed I misunderstood him.
“Oh, is that so?” I teased. “Which part did you make special? The green beans or the centerpiece?”
Of course, he ignored me.
That’s Todd. Eager for recognition but without effort.
Last year at his birthday, I learned my lesson.
After weeks of effort, I crafted a personalized photo album filled with cherished memories. His only response was, “Oh.” Where’s the real gift?
His words weren’t just painful; they were audacious.
I’d married a man who once wrote beautiful poetry, now unable to appreciate genuine gestures. It broke something inside me.
Then his 35th birthday came. The last straw.
During dinner, Todd casually expressed his desire for a grand birthday dinner.
“Claire, I want a proper birthday dinner,” he said. “Family and friends, everyone.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “You want me to plan it?”
“Of course,” he replied. “You’re skilled at this. Just keep it respectable.”
Respectable? Look at the entitlement. Expecting a celebration despite his hurtful words.
Despite hesitations, I gave him another chance. It was his birthday; I aimed to make it special, deserving or not.
Two weeks planning Todd’s “grand birthday dinner.” A striking menu with spinach-stuffed chicken, rosemary potatoes, a charcuterie board with unpronounceable cheeses, finished with a three-layer chocolate cake.
Every evening post-work, I tackled cleaning, organizing, and preparing. Borrowing chairs from our neighbor, Janice, ensured ample seating.
Todd’s contribution? None.
“Overwhelmed at work,” he shrugged, after a day’s work. “You got this, love.”
Skilled? I was exhausted, tears burning.
But I simply smiled. “Yeah, I’ve got this.”
Finally, party day arrived.
I resolved for perfection.
The house sparkled. Table set with coordinated linens and handwritten name cards. Appetizers chilled, main dishes simmering, cake embellished with gold leaf.
Indeed, I aimed high.
Todd sauntered into the kitchen, phone in hand, barely noticing my efforts.
“Looks great,” he remarked, grabbing a soda from the fridge.
“Does it?” I pressed, hopeful he’d notice.
He shrugged. “Hey, don’t worry about finishing this.”
“What do you mean?”
“Heading to the bar with the guys instead. Cancel everything. Inform the guests something came up.”
“Skipping your own birthday dinner?” I asked, stunned. “Todd, weeks of preparation!”
“Nothing to fret over,” he dismissed it. “Just let everyone know we’re busy. They’ll understand.”
“Understand? They’re almost here!” I protested. “You asked for something special, yet you’re walking out?”
“Don’t want to look foolish before the guys,” he pressed, ending the conversation.
He grabbed his jacket and exited.
“You can’t do this, Todd!” I shouted after him, but he was gone.
My heart shattered. I had put my heart and soul into this dinner, and he left like it meant nothing.
Cancel the party? After all my efforts?
Beyond anything, I felt humiliated.
How could he dismiss my work like it’s worthless?
The candles flickered across the pristine table, teasing me.
Was any of this worth it, Claire? Would you let Todd treat you this way? No, you won’t.
I resolved not to cancel the dinner. I wouldn’t allow him to make me feel unworthy again.
Todd could behave as he liked, but first, I’d show him true embarrassment. He had no idea what was coming.
I swiftly messaged guests:
Party continues! Change of venue. Meet us at the bar on Main Street. Arrive hungry!
Afterwards, I set to work.
Gathering dishes into the car, I drove straight to the bar Todd mentioned.
The place buzzed with lively chatter. I spied Todd at a table, oblivious to my presence.
“Can I help with anything, ma’am?” the bartender asked, eyes wide at the trays I carried.
I smiled warmly. “I’m here to enjoy a meal with people who’ll appreciate it.”
Choosing a table near the bar, visible to Todd’s group, I began setting out plates. The food’s aroma drew attention, nearby patrons peering curiously.
“What’s up with all the food?” a man pointed, intrigued.
Raising my voice slightly, I ensured my words carried. “This was for my husband’s birthday.” He abandoned me for the bar, so why let it go to waste?
A ripple of laughter and whispers spread through the room, applause following. Todd finally noticed me.
Hastily approaching as his friends whispered.
“Claire! What are you doing?” he demanded, casting anxious glances around.
I ignored him.
Turning to nearby patrons, “Fancy some ham? Help yourselves! Cake’s next.”
Just as Todd protested, the door swung open, admitting his parents, mine, his sister, and cousins.
They surveyed the scene, took in the spread and the guests relishing what was meant to be formal dining.
Todd’s mom, ever forthright, approached him directly. “Todd, what’s all this?” Claire suggested we gather here—you didn’t mention it’d be at a bar.”
Todd wished to vanish.
“It’s complicated, Mom,” he replied softly.
I intervened brightly. “I’d love to explain! Todd prioritized his game over the dinner he demanded, so I brought it here!”
His father sighed. “Disrespectful,” he muttered.
While Mom grabbed a plate, observing, “Food’s amazing.” Time to feast!
Soon, families mingled, savoring the meal I labored over.
And Todd’s friends? They laughed at his misstep, assuring him it wouldn’t be forgotten.
Serving the cake, the bar transformed into a lively party. In bold icing letters:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY HUSBAND!
Laughter erupted as I read it, but Todd wasn’t amused.
“Was this necessary, Claire?” he whispered.
I smiled gently. “Oh, absolutely.”
Afterwards, as I cleared trays, the bartender stopped me.
“Ma’am, you’re a legend,” he grinned. “Drinks on the house next time—without him!”
I chuckled softly. “Oh, it’s a promise, thanks!”
Families exited swiftly post-feast. My dad nodded approvingly, Todd’s mom remarking he should do better.
Returning home, Todd lamented about feeling “humiliated.”
“You embarrassed me, Claire!” he cried, gesticulating dramatically.
“No, Todd,” I countered. “You embarrassed yourself. And don’t expect home-cooked meals anytime soon.”
Realizing arguing was futile, he sulked off to bed.
Since that night, Todd’s demeanor has shifted. Less demanding, unexpectedly courteous—fearful I might repeat the performance. He hasn’t apologized for abandoning me, yet his sheepish behavior speaks volumes.
He’s grasped I won’t just accept his nonsense anymore. That, at least, is a victory.
Faced with my situation, what would you have done?
Reflecting, my experiences speak to relationship challenges, emphasizing the essence of care, family, and growth.
