When my husband gave me four hours’ notice to host his entire family, complete with a handwritten checklist for me, I decided I was done playing maid.

So, I “went to the store” — but really spent three hours at Target sipping lattes, smelling candles, and trying on jackets I didn’t need. Meanwhile, his family arrived to chaos: burnt frozen pizza, kids running wild, and my husband red-faced, desperately piping whipped cream onto store-bought cheesecake.

I walked in, poured myself a glass of wine, and said, “You told me to go to the store. I went.”

That night he finally realized what partnership actually means. And the best part? He hasn’t pulled that last-minute stunt ever again.