My Husband Gifted Me a Hand-Made Advent Calendar with Tasks to Please Him Every Day — The Lesson I Taught Him Was Harsh

Larry had never been one for grand romantic gestures. Birthdays were marked with “IOU” notes and anniversaries barely earned a passing mention. So, I was caught off guard when he strolled into the living room with a wide grin and a handmade advent calendar.

“What’s this?” I asked, setting down my coffee mug.

He held it up like it was the Mona Lisa. Each of the 24 tiny doors was hand-painted with snowflakes, stars, and reindeer.

“It’s an advent calendar. I made it for you, Mads,” he said, looking way too proud of himself. “Open one each day. You’re gonna love it.”

I blinked, staring at it like it might explode. “You made this… for me?”

“Yup,” he said, still grinning like a kid who’d just aced a math test.

My heart softened. I reached out, running my fingers over the tiny doors. It was beautiful.

“Larry, this is so sweet of you! I can’t believe you did this.”

“Believe it,” he said, puffing out his chest.

I bit my lip to hold back a smile. Maybe this was it. Maybe he was finally getting it — love wasn’t just words, it was action.

I woke up the next morning, excited to open the first door. Curling up on the couch with the calendar on my lap, I carefully opened the tiny flap. Inside was… a folded slip of paper.

With growing anticipation, I unfolded it. The words hit me like a bucket of cold water.

“Cook Larry’s favorite lasagna. Extra cheese, no skimping. Serve with garlic bread.”

I snorted, holding up the paper like it was evidence in a courtroom. “Is this… a joke?”

Larry peeked over his newspaper, his grin cocky as ever. “Nope. Start with that. I can’t wait.”

I laughed, the kind of laugh that comes out when you’re too stunned to process reality.

I folded the note and set it on the coffee table, glancing at the calendar suspiciously. This gift had turned strange very fast, but I shrugged it off.

It was Larry’s first attempt at being thoughtful, after all, so I thought he deserved some slack.

I made his lasagna, and served it with garlic bread, all while thinking this was just a rough start. Hopefully, tomorrow would be different.

By Day 4, I realized I’d been duped. Each day, I woke up hoping for something thoughtful — and each day, I was met with requests that ranged from annoying to absurd:

Day 2: “Foot massage after work. Don’t forget the scented lotion.”

Day 3: “Organize my sock drawer. Color-coded, please.”

Day 4: “Clean the garage. Make it spotless!”

All my illusions of Larry’s gift being romantic were shattered. He was just outsourcing his chores!

“Come on, Mads, it’s just a bit of fun!” Larry remarked from his spot on the sofa, not even bothering to look away from the game he was watching on TV.

Somehow, as I scrubbed at an oil stain on the garage floor, I still believed there might be something in the advent calendar that could redeem Larry. So I kept on with the calendar, until one day, I snapped.

On the 15th day of Christmas, my husband gave to me… A request for an unforgettable date.

“Plan a romantic date night. Book a fancy restaurant. Make it unforgettable.”

My fingers gripped the paper so tightly that it crumpled. I walked straight into the living room, holding the note like it was Exhibit A.

“So, let me get this straight,” I said, voice dangerously calm. “15 days into this, you’re making me plan a romantic date for you?”

“Yup,” he said, popping a chip into his mouth. “It’s called teamwork, babe.”

I smiled sweetly, folding the note and slipping it into my back pocket. “You’re right, honey,” I said, my voice sugar-sweet. “Teamwork.”

I booked us a table at The Sprout & Vine, a vegan restaurant. Larry despises vegan food. Watching him gnaw at a tempeh burger with pure misery in his eyes while I enjoyed my lentil bolognese was worth every penny.

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Larry muttered as we exited the restaurant.

On the 16th day of Christmas, my husband gave to me… A junk-filled garage I’d already cleaned and now had to organize.

From that day forward, I played along — but I played smart.

The note tucked behind the door for Day 16 was “Organize the garage.”

Oh, I organized it all right. I organized his entire beer coaster collection straight into a donation box. I even threw in that old dartboard he swore he’d fix “someday.”

On Day 18, my special advent surprise was to iron Larry’s shirts.

I used so much starch on his work shirts that they could stand up on their own. When he tried to put one on, it looked like he was wearing corrugated cardboard.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” he muttered, tugging at the stiff collar.

Every day, I followed the letter of his notes but bent them to suit my mood. His confusion grew, his brow furrowing as he tried to piece it together. Poor Larry.

On the 24th day of Christmas, my husband gave to me… Specifications for his Christmas gift.

“Surprise me with a gift. Make it thoughtful and expensive. It’s the least you could do after this amazing Advent Calendar.”

Oh, Larry. You wanted thoughtful and expensive? You’d get it.

I spent the afternoon wrapping his gift — a large box with a single slip of paper inside. I placed it under the tree and wrote his name in big, bold letters.

On Christmas morning, Larry tore into his present with the eagerness of a child. Tossing aside the paper, he opened the box. His brows knitted in confusion as he pulled out the note.

“Go see!” I said, my face a mask of holiday cheer.

He looked at me with narrowed eyes, but curiosity won out. I trailed behind him as he opened the door and stepped inside.

The garage was empty. His workbench? Gone. His fishing gear? Gone. Every last “Larry item” had vanished.

His jaw dropped. “What the hell?! Where’s all my stuff?”

“I sold your stuff to pay for a spa retreat — FOR ME. I leave tomorrow. Enjoy the peace and quiet!” He read aloud. The color drained from his face. He spun around, sputtering like a busted engine. “You sold my tools?! My fishing gear?! Are you crazy?”

“Nope,” I said, my smile saccharine sweet. “Just spreading Christmas cheer, babe. It’s called teamwork.”

Larry sulked on the couch for the rest of Christmas Day, arms crossed, face like a thundercloud. He didn’t look so smug anymore. I watched him in silence, sipping hot cocoa from my favorite mug.

By the time I got back, Larry had learned his lesson: Christmas is about giving, not taking advantage of your wife.

But it was too late.

Because I gifted myself the best present of all — filing for divorce.

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.