My Husband Gifted Me a Hand-Made Advent Calendar with Tasks to Please Him Every Day — The Lesson I Taught Him Was Harsh
Madison is moved when her husband, Larry, gives her a handcrafted advent calendar as a surprise, but on the first day, she discovers that the “gift” is actually a chore. It grows worse every day, but on day 15, Madison loses it and comes up with a scheme to discipline him.
Big romantic gestures have never been Larry’s style. Anniversaries were hardly mentioned, and birthdays were honored with “IOU” notes. He walked into the living room with a handcrafted advent calendar and a big smile, which took me by surprise.
“What’s this?” I put down my coffee mug and asked.
He displayed it as though it were the Mona Lisa. Snowflakes, stars, and reindeer were hand-painted on each of the 24 small doors.
It’s a calender for Advent. He looked far too pleased with himself as he continued, “I made it for you, Mads.” “Open one every day. You will adore it.
I stared at it as if it were about to blow up, blinking. “You made this… for me?”
He continued to smile as if he had just aced a math test. “Yup,” he responded.
My heart warmed up. I extended my hand and ran my fingers across the small doors. It was lovely.
“This is very kind of you, Larry! It’s unbelievable that you accomplished this.
“Believe it,” he exclaimed, his chest swollen.
I suppressed a smile by biting my lip. This might have been it. Perhaps he was beginning to understand that love was more than just words; it was action.
My hubby gave me something on the first day of Christmas. His go-to lasagna recipe.
The following morning, I was eager to open the first door when I woke up. I cautiously opened the small flap and curled up on the couch with the calendar on my lap. There was a folded piece of paper inside.
I opened it with increasing interest. The words were as frigid as a bucket of water.
Prepare Larry’s preferred lasagna. No cutting corners, extra cheese. Serve with toast and garlic.
I sneered and held out the paper as if it were legal evidence. “Is this… a joke?”
Larry’s smile was as arrogant as usual as he peered over his newspaper. “No. Take it first. I’m eager.”
I waited for him to reveal that it was merely a gag. He didn’t.
I chuckled—the kind of chuckle you get when you’re too shocked to comprehend the truth.
I looked warily at the calendar as I folded the note and placed it on the coffee table. This gift quickly took a bizarre turn, but I dismissed it.
After all, it was Larry’s first time trying to be considerate, so I felt he should be given a break.
I thought this was just a hard beginning, so I made his lasagna and served it with garlic bread. Hopefully, things will be different tomorrow.
My spouse presented me with something on the fourth day of Christmas. A garage to keep immaculate.
I became aware that I had been tricked by Day 4. I awoke every day expecting something considerate, but instead I received requests that varied from obnoxious to ridiculous:
Day 2: “After work, get a foot massage. Remember to bring the perfumed lotion.
“Organize my sock drawer,” said Day 3. Please, color-coded.”
Clean the garage on the fourth day. Clean it up!”
My preconceived notions about Larry’s present being romantic were all dashed. All he was doing was contracting out his work!
I murmured, “This isn’t Christmas cheer, it’s unpaid labor,” as I placed the Day 4 letter on the coffee table. “Larry, you really want me to tidy the garage? In my Advent calendar, perhaps?
“Come on, Mads, it’s just a bit of fun!” Larry said this while seated on the couch, not even taking his eyes off the game he was watching on television.
I still thought there could be something in the advent calendar that could save Larry, even as I scrubbed at an oil stain on the garage floor. I continued using the calendar until I lost it one day.
My husband gave me something on the fifteenth day of Christmas. A plea for a date that will never be forgotten.
I was prepared to be disappointed on the morning of Day 15. I extracted the message by opening the small flap. My blood pressure shot up the moment I read it.
“Organize a romantic evening for a date. Reserve a classy dining establishment. Make it a memorable experience.
The paper crumpled under the force of my fingers. I carried the note like it was Exhibit A as I strode into the living room.
I said, “So, let me get this straight,” in a dangerously composed tone. “15 days into this, you’re making me plan a romantic date for you?”
He answered, “Yup,” and put a chip in his mouth. “It’s called teamwork, babe.”
Something broke inside of me. The quiet, lethal snap where everything becomes crystal obvious, not the loud, dramatic sort. We would play games with Larry if he wanted to.
I folded the note and put it in my back pocket with a charming smile. I answered, “You’re right, honey,” in a pleasant voice. “Teamwork.”
I reserved a table for us at the vegan eatery The Sprout & Vine. Larry hates vegan cuisine. While I savored my lentil bolognese, it was worth every cent to watch him bite at a tempeh burger with unadulterated pain in his eyes.
Larry whispered, “That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” as we left the eatery.
I simply grinned.
My husband gave me something on the sixteenth day of Christmas. I had already cleaned the cluttered garage, but now I needed to organize it.
I played along after that day, but I played cleverly.
Day 16’s letter, hidden under the door, read, “Organize the garage.”
Oh, I did a good job organizing stuff. I put his whole collection of beer coasters in a donation box. I even included the ancient dartboard that he promised to fix “someday.”
My husband gave me something on the eighteenth day of Christmas. A stack of his shirts that need to be properly ironed.
I ironed Larry’s shirts as a nice advent surprise on Day 18.
His work shirts were so starched by me that they were able to stand up by themselves. It appeared as though he was wearing corrugated cardboard when he attempted to put one on.
Pulling at the stiff collar, he whispered, “What’s wrong with this thing?”
I adhered to the letter of his notes each day, but I modified them to fit my mood. His brow furrowed as he attempted to piece it together, his uncertainty growing. Larry, poor guy.
My spouse gave me the following details for his Christmas present on the twenty-fourth day of the year.
I opened the last note on Christmas Eve. As I looked over the phrases, a sly smile appeared on my face.
“Give me a surprise present. Make it pricey and considerate. After this incredible Advent Calendar, it’s the least you could do.
Larry, oh. You want something pricey and considerate? You would understand.
His gift was a big box with one slip of paper inside, and I spent the afternoon wrapping it. I inscribed his name in large, bold letters on it and put it beneath the tree.
With the excitement of a youngster, Larry jumped into his present on Christmas morning. He tossed the paper aside and opened the box. As he took out the note, his brows furrowed in perplexity.
He looked at me and said, “Check the garage,” out loud. “What’s in the garage?”
“Go see!” With a mask of holiday happiness, I said.
His eyes narrowed as he gazed at me, but curiosity overcame him. He opened the door and went inside, and I followed.
There was nobody in the garage. Where was his workbench? His fishing gear? Lost. The final “Larry item” was gone.
His mouth fell open. “What the devil? Where are all of my belongings?
“Surprise!” I gave him the second note and said brightly. His eyes skimming the words, he grabbed it.
“I paid for a spa retreat — FOR ME — by selling your belongings. Tomorrow, I’m going out. Savor the tranquility and silence!” He read out loud. He lost the color in his face. Sputtering like a broken engine, he whirled around. “My tools were sold by you? My fishing equipment? Are you insane?
“Nope,” I said with a sugary-sweet smile. “Just wishing you a Merry Christmas, sweetie. We call it teamwork.
For the remainder of Christmas Day, Larry sulked on the couch with his arms folded and his face shaped like a thundercloud. He no longer appeared so arrogant. Sipping hot chocolate from my favorite mug, I silently watched him.
The only thing I needed to “organize” by the next morning was which massage I would schedule first at a five-star spa resort. Thinking of Larry by himself in that deserted garage made me smile as I soaked in a mineral bath.
Larry had learned his lesson by the time I returned: Christmas is about giving, not about taking advantage of your wife.
However, it was too late.
Because I filed for divorce, which was the nicest gift I could have given myself.
Here’s If You Love to Read More: Waitressing at a Wedding Took a Shocking Turn When I Saw the Groom – It Was My Husband
Here’s If You Love to Watch Movie: MyFlixerHD
