One bright morning, fueled by the confidence of a self-help book titled “How to Be the Man of Your Own Home Again,” a man decided it was time to reclaim his throne. Inspired and ready to assert himself, he marched into the kitchen with all the bravado of a king returning from exile.
His wife stood at the counter, slicing vegetables with serene efficiency, oblivious to the storm about to brew.
Clearing his throat dramatically, the man struck a commanding pose. “Listen here!” he began, his voice filled with newfound authority.
His wife glanced up; one eyebrow raised. “Oh? This should be good,” she muttered under her breath but said nothing, allowing him the floor.
“Firstly,” he declared, pointing an emphatic finger her way, “from now on, YOU need to understand that I am the MAN of this house, and what I say goes!”
His wife blinked, her face an unreadable mask.
“Secondly,” he continued, his chest puffed with self-importance, “tonight, you will prepare me a gourmet meal, something worthy of a king! Afterward, you’ll serve me a dessert of my choosing.”
She set the knife down slowly, crossing her arms as he launched into full theatrical mode.
“Then, after dinner, we’re going upstairs where we will engage in whatever forms of lovemaking I decide, regardless of anything you might have said before!” He leaned forward, clearly pleased with his audacity.
But he wasn’t done yet.
“After that, you’ll draw me a warm bath so I can relax. You’ll wash my back, towel me dry, and bring me my robe. Then you’ll massage my feet and hands until I feel completely rejuvenated.”
By now, his wife’s lips were twitching, though whether it was from laughter or fury was anyone’s guess.
“And finally,” he concluded, his voice dripping with triumph, “guess who’s going to dress me and comb my hair when all that’s done?”
A heavy silence filled the room. His wife tilted her head, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. Slowly, she replied, her voice cool as a cucumber:
“Well, my guess would be … the funeral director.”
The man froze, his imaginary crown toppling off his head. His wife, now smirking, picked up her knife and resumed chopping, leaving her husband to quietly reconsider the life choices that had brought him to this moment.
Needless to say, the book didn’t survive the evening, but the story of his ill-fated speech has been told at every family gathering since.
Hope this brings a smile!