Hi, I’m Sophie, and let me tell you about my husband, Clark—classic workaholic who treats his job like it’s the center of the universe. Meanwhile, I’m juggling two kids, and guess who planned our holiday flights to visit his family? Yep, Clark. I thought, “Great, one less thing for me to stress about.”
Big mistake.
At the airport, I asked him where our seats were. He barely looked up from his phone before admitting he’d upgraded himself and his mom to first class. Me and the kids? Economy. I was livid.
“Come on, Soph, don’t be dramatic,” he said. Then his mother swoops in with her smug grin, and they both waltz off to champagne and comfort while I’m stuck wrangling toddlers in coach.
But guess what? I had a plan. See, back at security, I’d slipped Clark’s wallet out of his bag and into mine. Fast forward to the flight—he’s living large, ordering top-shelf drinks and fancy meals—until the bill comes. No wallet. Panic mode: activated.
He ends up creeping back to economy, asking me for cash. I sweetly offered $200—just enough to humiliate him. “Maybe your mom can cover it?” I suggested, watching the color drain from his face.
The rest of the flight? Awkward silence in first class. Pure bliss for me.
When we landed, he was still hunting for his wallet. I just smiled, zipped my purse shut, and thought, Maybe I’ll buy myself something nice before I give it back.
Moral of the story? If your partner leaves you in the dust, a little harmless revenge makes the ride a lot smoother—no matter what class you’re in.
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