Our home had always been my sanctuary – until my husband invited his college buddy to move in “temporarily.” What started as a two-week favor stretched into months of chaos. I’d come home from work to find beer cans littering our coffee table, pizza boxes stacked by the door, and a mysterious funk emanating from the guest room.
“Relax, it’s just guy stuff,” my husband chuckled when I complained. But when he dismissed my concerns as nagging, I knew I needed to take action. I stopped being the household maid. Dirty dishes piled up, laundry mountains formed, and the living room became a no-go zone. My husband’s frustration grew daily, but he stubbornly refused to acknowledge the problem – until his parents came to visit.
The look on his face when his mother wrinkled her nose at the state of our home was priceless. Two days later, his friend was packing his bags. Sometimes people need to experience consequences firsthand to understand your pain.
