When my husband smugly tossed a crumpled $50 bill on the counter and told me to “make a lavish Christmas dinner” for his family, I knew I had two choices: cave under the insult or turn the tables. Guess which one I picked?
Greg insists we host Christmas every year, treating it as my sole responsibility. But this year, he crossed a line. Tossing that $50 with a condescending smirk, he added, “Be resourceful. Don’t embarrass me.”
I smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry, Greg. I’ll make it work.”
For days, I let him think I was scrounging and coupon-clipping. Meanwhile, I secretly planned a luxurious feast using my personal savings. By Christmas Day, the house was transformed—twinkling lights, an elegant table, and a spread to rival any banquet.
Greg’s family arrived, showering me with compliments. Greg, clueless, took credit. “Claire’s learning to be resourceful, just like Mom taught us.”
When dessert—a gold-adorned cake—was served, I raised a toast. “A special thanks to Greg for his $50 contribution. Without it, this $750 dinner wouldn’t have been possible.”
The room went silent. His mother’s disappointment was palpable. His brothers snickered. Greg turned crimson.
“Oh, and Greg?” I added with a smile. “Cleanup’s all yours. Think of it as your contribution this year.”
As he sulked in the kitchen, I savored my victory—and the spa retreat I’d already booked for myself.
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