My Husband Refused to Help Get the Kids Ready for School, Taking a Bath for an Hour Instead – I Taught Him a Harsh Lesson

I’ve told him a million times it’s too much, but he insists it’s his “sacred escape.” Normally, I’d roll my eyes and let it go, but last week? Oh boy, it was different.

I had this super important job interview and I was running late. I needed Adam to help get the kids ready for school. You know what he did?

He looked me dead in the eye and said, “Sweetie, my bath is my sacred escape from the kids and, let’s be honest, from YOU! You can handle things for an hour, can’t you?”

And with that, he disappeared into the bathroom, humming like he didn’t have a care in the world.

That was it. I was done with his nonsense. Especially on such an important day.

I was left juggling the kids, trying to find their shoes, making breakfast, and keeping my cool all at once. I felt my frustration bubbling up, but I kept it together.

“You wanna play games, Adam? Let’s play,” I muttered to myself, a plan already forming in my mind.

By the time I got the kids to school, I was a frazzled mess. My hair was everywhere, my blouse had a cereal stain, and I was barely holding it together.

I rushed to my interview, praying I wouldn’t be too late.

But of course, I was. They barely even looked at me before turning me away. All I could think about was Adam’s smug face and his stupid bath. That was the last straw.

Back home, I couldn’t shake Adam’s nasty words. “You can handle things for an hour, can’t you?” echoed in my head like an annoying jingle.

That night, as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I devised the perfect plan. I knew his routine down to the last detail: candles, favorite bath oils, relaxation playlist. He had it all set up like some spa experience every morning.

The next morning, I woke up early, determined to put my plan into action. First, I swapped his beloved bath oils with baby oil. That stuff is a nightmare to wash off and would leave him slippery and annoyed.

Then, I replaced his relaxation playlist with the kids’ favorite songs. Think “I Like To Move It” on repeat at full blast. Finally, I turned off the hot water valve just enough so he’d have lukewarm water at best.

As he headed to the bathroom, he gave me a little wink. “Enjoy your hour, honey,” I whispered under my breath, watching him close the door behind him.

The next few minutes were pure gold. I heard him fumbling around, cursing under his breath as he slipped on the baby oil.

Then the shrill “I Like To Move It” started playing, and I could practically imagine his eye twitching from irritation. The showstopper was his yelp when the lukewarm water hit him.

I leaned against the door frame, smirking. Adam emerged, grumpy and dripping. “What the hell happened in there?” he demanded.

I looked him square in the eye. “Just like you expect your relaxation time to be respected, I expect your support when I need it. Especially on important days like yesterday.”

He glared but didn’t say a word. I knew this wasn’t over. But nothing changed. Adam still took his long baths, just more cautiously. Time to step up my game.

“Alright, honey. If subtlety doesn’t work, we’ll go big,” I muttered to myself.

The following week, I got even more creative. I wasn’t about to let this go. Adam was going to learn to appreciate what I do every morning.

I bought some bath bombs that looked perfectly normal but were filled with glitter. It was an idea I found online, and it seemed perfect.

That morning, as soon as he dropped one into the tub, it exploded in a cloud of sparkly particles. The sound of his surprise and frustration was music to my ears. He emerged from the bathroom looking like a disco ball, muttering curses under his breath.

“Why the hell is there glitter everywhere?” he growled, trying to brush off the sparkles clinging to his wet skin.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, just thought you could use some extra sparkle in your life, sweetie!”

The cleanup took him ages, and he scrubbed the tub for hours trying to get rid of the glitter. Still, he persisted with his baths, albeit a bit more warily now.

Adam checked the bath bombs every time before using them, but he didn’t give up his ritual.

I shook my head, amazed at his stubbornness. “Fine, you want to keep this up? I’ll go even further,” I thought, plotting my next move.

One night, I decided to involve the kids in the fun. We set up an elaborate prank involving their toys. I placed a few rubber ducks and toy boats in the tub and filled it with cold water.

Then, I rigged a recording of a pirate battle to play on his speaker. The scene was set for a chaotic morning.

The next morning, Adam stepped into the bathroom, blissfully unaware of what awaited him.

When he dipped his foot into the cold water, he yelped. The sudden sounds of cannon fire and pirate shouts made him jump, slipping on a toy boat and flailing into the tub.

He emerged, soaking and furious. “What the hell is going on in this house?” he demanded, his eyes wild with confusion.

I stood there, arms crossed. “If you can’t appreciate my need for help, I can’t appreciate your need for a peaceful bath,” I said calmly, trying to hide my grin.

He stormed off, dripping water everywhere, but I saw the wheels turning in his head. Finally, he was starting to get it. The kids were giggling in the background, adding to the chaos.

Despite everything, Adam still hadn’t learned his lesson completely. I sighed, realizing I needed to step up my game once more.

So, I enlisted the kids for the ultimate prank. We staged a fake emergency. Just as he was about to head to the bathroom, I screamed, “The kids are locked in the garage!”

Panic-stricken, Adam rushed out, only to find the kids giggling. Meanwhile, I slipped into the bathroom and installed a motion sensor that triggered a loud alarm whenever someone stepped into the tub.

Adam came back, fuming, and tried to take his bath. The moment he stepped in, the blaring sound of an air horn filled the room. He jumped out, soaking wet and livid.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN THIS HOUSE??” he barked.

I was ready with a smirk and a fitting reply. “Welcome to my world, Adam.”

“This isn’t just about the bath,” I told him. “It’s about partnership. We’re in this together, and I need you to be there for me just as much as you need your relaxation time. Balance, remember?”

He sighed, looking defeated but finally understanding. From that day on, he made a real effort to help with the kids and be more present.

He even cut his bath time down to thirty minutes and started helping with the morning routine before disappearing into his much-needed soak.

But I wasn’t done yet. I had one last prank up my sleeve, just to ensure the lesson stuck. I got a little too enthusiastic with this one, and it ended up being the talk of the neighborhood for weeks.

“Oh, Adam, you’re in for a treat,” I thought, chuckling to myself.

One evening, while he was enjoying his bath, I snuck into the bathroom and replaced his regular shampoo with hair dye. Not just any dye, but a bright, neon pink color.

I made sure to buy a type that would wash out easily, but it was still a shocking transformation.

Adam didn’t notice at first and went about his routine. But when he looked in the mirror, his scream echoed down the street.

The kids and I couldn’t contain our laughter as he stood there, hair glowing like a highlighter.

“VIENNA! WHAAAAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY HAIR??” he yelled, flustered and pink.

I just grinned. “Now we’re even, Adam!”

It took a few days and several washes to get his hair back to normal, but by then, he had completely given up on his hour-long baths. He started taking quick showers instead, spending more time with the family and less time locked away in the bathroom.

And that, my friends, is how I won the Nobel Prize in Chore Distribution! Turns out, a sprinkle of glitter, a strategically placed water balloon, and a regrettable neon pink hair dye incident were all it took to get my hubby on board with teamwork!

Here’s another story about Emma’s 57th birthday bash turning disastrous when her husband publicly ridiculed her age. But real chaos ensues when Emma’s best friend takes a stand for her, revealing a secret that leaves everyone reeling in disbelief.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.