My Husband Throws Away Our Dishes So He Won't Have to Do Them — After My Epic Lesson He Asked to Be in Charge of All Chores

Ladies, what's the wildest thing your husband has done to skip chores? Mine secretly threw our dishes away! Discover how my clever lesson made him the master of all household duties.

I never thought I'd be the kind of wife who'd stoop to trickery, but desperate times call for desperate measures, right? My name's Shannon, I'm 45, and I've been married to my sweet Andrew for almost two decades. We were the picture-perfect couple, or so I thought until I discovered his dirty little secret…

Andrew and I were the picture-perfect couple, living our own fairytale. We'd divided household chores, with dishes falling squarely on his plate every Tuesday and Thursday.

"I won't let you down," he'd promised with a charming smile. If only I'd known then how hollow those words would ring.

It all started on a Tuesday evening. I'd just gotten home from a grueling day at work, my feet aching and my head pounding. All I wanted was a cup of chamomile tea in my favorite mug—the one my best friend, Jess, had given me for my birthday last year.

I shuffled to the kitchen, opened the cabinet, and reached for the familiar blue ceramic. My hand grasped at the empty air. Frowning, I pushed aside other mugs, plates, and bowls. No luck.

"Hey, Andy?" I called out. "Have you seen my blue mug?"

Andrew appeared in the doorway, his brow furrowed. "The one from Jess?" He scratched his head. "I think it broke a while ago. Sorry, babe. I forgot to mention it."

I stared at him, a niggling doubt worming its way into my mind. "Are you sure? I could've sworn I used it last week."

He shrugged, already turning away. "Maybe you're thinking of a different mug. Want me to make you some tea in another one?"

"No, it's fine," I muttered, settling for a plain white mug instead. As I sipped my tea, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

"Hey, Andy? Didn't you say you'd do the dishes today?" I asked.

His voice floated back from the kitchen. "Already done, hon. I'm on top of it."

A few days later, I was taking out the trash when a glint caught my eye. Curiosity piqued, I set down the bag and peered into the bin.

My heart sank as I reached in and pulled out the shattered remains of my beloved blue mug.

"What the hell?" I whispered, turning the cracked mug over in my hands. This was no accident. The mug had been deliberately smashed.

Anger bubbled up inside me, but I forced it down. I needed answers, not accusations.

The next time Andrew was supposed to "do the dishes," I kept a watchful eye. As soon as he left for work, I snuck out to the trash bin.

My suspicions were confirmed when I found two plates nestled among the garbage, barely chipped but otherwise perfectly usable.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks: Andrew had been throwing away our dishes to avoid washing them?!

I stormed back into the house, my hands shaking as I gripped the edge of the kitchen counter. How long had this been going on? How many dishes had we lost to his laziness?

Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from Andrew: "Hope you're having a good day, babe. Love you!"

I stared at the screen. I was LIVID. Part of me wanted to confront him right then and there, but another part, a sneakier, more vindictive part, had a DIFFERENT IDEA.

"Love you too," I texted back, my mind already formulating a plan. "By the way, did you remember to do the dishes last night?"

His reply came quickly: "Of course! All done and put away."

I smirked, typing out my response. "You're the best, honey. What would I do without you?"

Over the next week, I hatched a plan that'd make Houdini proud—a mind-bending dish-appearing act that'd have Andrew questioning his sanity.

Nothing cruel, mind you, just a little magical realism to spice up our kitchen drama. Time to see if my husband could handle a taste of his own medicine served on a perpetually dirty plate.

Every time Andrew "did the dishes," I'd replace the thrown-away items with identical dirty ones. I'd bought extras of our everyday plates and bowls, just for this purpose.

On Thursday evening, I watched from the corner of my eye as Andrew entered the kitchen, whistling tunelessly. He stopped short at the sight of the sink.

"What the—" he muttered, scratching his head. "I could've sworn I washed these yesterday."

I glanced up from my phone, the picture of innocence. "Everything okay, honey?"

He gestured at the sink, confusion etched on his face. "Didn't I do these dishes already?"

I shrugged, fighting to keep my expression neutral as I pointed to the sink full of dirty dishes.

"Oh, is that what you call DOING THE DISHES, hon? Maybe you're just tired. You know how it is when work's been stressful."

Andrew nodded slowly, still frowning. "Yeah, maybe that's it." He rolled up his sleeves with a sigh. "Guess I'll do them again."

As he turned to the sink, I allowed myself a small, triumphant smile. "You're such a sweetheart, Andy. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He chuckled, but it sounded forced. "Right back at you, Shan."

As the days went by, Andrew's confusion grew. Each time he checked the sink, there seemed to be more and more dishes waiting for him.

I could see the strain starting to show... the dark circles under his eyes, the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes anymore.

One night, as we sat down to dinner, Andrew pushed his food around his plate, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Shan," he said finally, his voice hesitant. "Have you noticed anything... weird lately?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Weird how, honey?"

He set down his fork, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know. It's just... the dishes. I swear I keep washing them, but they never seem to stay clean. Am I losing my mind?"

For a moment, I almost felt guilty. Almost. But then I remembered my shattered mug, the countless plates and bowls tossed away like garbage, and Andrew's constant web of lies.

I reached across the table, taking his hand in mine. "Oh, Andy. You've been working so hard lately. Maybe you're just exhausted?"

He squeezed my hand, offering a weak smile. "Yeah, maybe that's it. I just... I feel like I'm going crazy, Shan."

The breaking point arrived exactly one week into my covert observation.

I feigned absorption in my phone as Andrew tackled the latest batch of dishes. From the corner of my eye, I saw him lift a plate, examine it, then toss it into the black garbage bag.

Just as he was about to head outside to throw it in the trash bin, he hesitated. I held my breath as a complex interplay of confusion, guilt, and frustration flashed across his face.

With a heavy sigh, he returned to the sink and resumed washing.

I couldn't believe it. Had my plan actually worked?

Andrew scrubbed each dish meticulously, his movements almost robotic. When he finished, he turned to me, defeated.

"Shan," he said. "I think... I think we should get a dishwasher."

I blinked, feigning surprise. "A dishwasher? But I thought you liked doing the dishes by hand?"

He shook his head, a bewildered look on his face. "Shan, I think I need help. These dishes... they're multiplying or something. I swear I wash them, but they keep coming back dirty. I can't explain it."

I bit my lip, suppressing a smile. "Oh, Andy. You've been working so hard lately."

He ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. "I know it sounds crazy, but I'm serious. Look, how about I take over all the chores for a while? Maybe if I do everything else, I'll figure out what's going on. And we should get a dishwasher. It might help with this... whatever this is."

I pretended to consider his offer. "Well... if you really think it'll help..."

Andrew nodded eagerly. "I do. I promise, Shan. I'll get to the bottom of this mystery."

I stood up and wrapped my arms around him. "Okay, Andy. And hey, maybe doing all the chores will be therapeutic. Help you unwind after work, you know?"

He chuckled nervously. "Yeah, maybe. Who knows? I might even start to enjoy it."

As we stood there in our kitchen, surrounded by the "mysteriously" reappearing dirty dishes, I couldn't help but smile. Sometimes, a little mischief can lead to a whole lot of resolution.

And who knows? Maybe Andrew really would start to enjoy doing ALL THE HOUSEHOLD CHORES! (wink!!) Stranger things have happened, after all!

Here's another story: My husband's odd nighttime habit had me worried he was losing his mind. But it saved us from being robbed in the dead of night.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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.