I Cooked a Holiday Feast for 20, But My Husband Chose a Bar Over Me—You Won’t Believe What Happened Next

I thought I was being a good wife by organizing a festive dinner for my husband Todd’s 35th birthday. But just as the guests were about to arrive, he told me he was ditching the party to watch the game at a bar. What happened next? Let’s just say, I got the last laugh.

You’d think after six years of marriage, Todd would have learned to appreciate me, but no. Every year, I go all out for his birthday, and every year, he takes it for granted.

This time, though, his sense of entitlement was off the charts.

We’ve been married for six years. Our relationship has its good moments, and Todd can be charming when he wants to be, but there’s one thing that really bothers me about him: his entitlement.

Take last Thanksgiving, for example. Todd decided we should host dinner for both of our families. He told me about it one morning, grinning like he had solved a huge problem.

“Claire,” he said, “I think we should host Thanksgiving this year.”

“Okay,” I replied. “How should we divide up the tasks?”

He waved me off like it wasn’t a big deal. “Oh, you’re better at that stuff. I’ll just handle drinks or something. Just make it memorable.”

I should’ve known better, but I went along with it.

For two weeks, I planned and prepped while Todd played fantasy football and occasionally asked if I needed anything.

On the big day, I cooked the turkey, made sides, and even baked two pies. And Todd? He carried in a cooler of beer. That’s it.

After dinner, as everyone complimented the food and decorations, Todd proudly took credit for everything.

“Glad you all love it,” he said. “I wanted it to be special this year.”

I couldn’t believe my ears.

“Oh, really?” I said. “What part did you want special? The green bean casserole or the centerpiece?”

But of course, he ignored me.

That’s Todd for you. He wants the credit without doing any of the work.

Then there was last year on his birthday.

I spent weeks creating a customized photo album filled with pictures from our travels and special moments together. I couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

But when he finished flipping through the pages, he just said, “Oh. So, where’s the real gift?”

It wasn’t just his words that stung; it was the attitude. He’d once written me poetry, and now he couldn’t appreciate a heartfelt gesture. That was when I realized he wasn’t the man I’d fallen for anymore.

And then came his 35th birthday—the last straw.

We were having dinner when Todd casually told me his plans.

“Claire, I want a big, proper birthday dinner this year,” he said. “Invite the family, my friends, everyone.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You mean you want me to plan it?”

“Well, yeah,” he replied. “You’re good at this stuff. Just make it decent, alright? I don’t want to be embarrassed.”

“Decent?” I repeated.

“Yeah, just don’t go overboard or anything. Keep it classy.”

You can see the entitlement here, right? He expects a big party and still treats me like this?

I didn’t want to agree, but I did. It was his birthday, and I wanted to make it special, even if he didn’t deserve it.

For the next two weeks, I worked hard planning Todd’s “big, proper birthday dinner.” If he wanted classy, I’d give him classy.

I made an impressive menu with spinach-stuffed chicken, rosemary potatoes, a charcuterie board with fancy cheeses, and a three-layer chocolate cake.

Every day after work, I cleaned, organized, and prepped. I even borrowed extra chairs and a table from our neighbor, Janice, to make sure everyone had a seat.

Todd’s contribution? Absolutely nothing.

“I’m swamped at work,” he said, plopping on the couch. “But you’ve got this, babe. You’re good at these things.”

Good at these things? I was exhausted.

But instead of snapping, I smiled and said, “Yeah, I’ve got this.”

The day of the party finally arrived.

I woke up early, determined to make everything perfect. The house was spotless, the table set with matching linens, and the food ready. Even the cake had edible gold flakes on it.

Todd walked into the kitchen, glanced at the spread, and muttered, “Looks good,” before grabbing a soda from the fridge.

“Looks good?” I repeated, half-joking but hoping he’d notice the effort I’d put in.

“Yeah,” he said, then casually added, “But hey, I’m heading to the bar with the guys to watch the game. Cancel everything. Tell everyone something came up.”

“What?” I asked. “You’re ditching your own birthday dinner? Todd, I’ve been planning this for weeks!”

“It’s not a big deal,” he shrugged. “Just tell everyone we’re busy. They’ll understand.”

“They’ll understand?” My voice was shaking. “Todd, people are already on their way! You asked me to make this decent, and now you’re leaving?”

“I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of the guys,” he said, walking out the door.

I was devastated. I had put my heart and soul into this dinner, and he treated it like it didn’t matter.

Cancel everything? Not a chance.

I stared at the table, feeling humiliated. But then, I had an idea.

If Todd wanted to act like this, I’d show him what real embarrassment looked like. He had no idea who he was messing with.

I grabbed my phone and sent a message to the guests:

“Party’s still on! Meet us at the bar near our place. Bring your appetite!”

Then, I packed up all the food and drove straight to the bar Todd had mentioned.

When I arrived, the place was buzzing with noise. I spotted Todd sitting with his friends, his back to the door. He didn’t even notice me.

“Uh, ma’am? Can I help you?” the bartender asked, noticing the trays of food I was carrying.

I smiled and said, “I’m just here to share a meal with people who’ll appreciate it.”

I set up the food right in front of Todd and his friends, making sure they could see it all. The smell quickly caught the attention of everyone in the bar.

“What’s this about?” one man asked.

I raised my voice just enough for Todd to hear, “This was supposed to be my husband’s birthday dinner, but he chose to ditch me for the game. So, I thought, why let all this food go to waste?”

The bar erupted in laughter, and Todd finally turned around.

He stormed over, furious. “Claire! What the hell are you doing?”

I didn’t look at him. Instead, I offered food to anyone nearby.

Just then, Todd’s family arrived, and they were confused to see us in a bar. Todd’s mom walked right up to him and asked, “What’s going on, Todd? Claire said to meet here for your birthday dinner, but why is she serving food in a bar?”

Todd looked like he wanted to disappear.

I stepped in and explained, “Todd wanted to watch the game with his friends, so I brought the dinner to him.”

His parents didn’t seem impressed, but they dug into the food.

Todd’s friends laughed at him, and by the time I brought out the cake, the bar felt like a full-blown party. The cake said, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SELFISH HUSBAND!”

Todd wasn’t happy, but I didn’t care.

After everyone finished, the bartender joked that drinks were on the house if I ever came back—without Todd.

As we left, Todd muttered about being “humiliated.” I just told him, “Don’t expect another homemade meal anytime soon.”

He couldn’t argue, so he stormed off to the bedroom.

It’s been two weeks since that night. Todd has changed—well, mostly. His demands have dialed down, and he’s been more polite. He hasn’t apologized, but his behavior says enough. Now he knows I won’t put up with his nonsense anymore. That’s a win in my book.