I sat at the table, waiting.

Ten minutes passed.

And then…

perfect timing.

“DAMN IT!” came a shout from outside.

I smiled.

I stepped onto the porch, wearing my most innocent expression.

There he was—bent over beside the car, clutching his stomach like it was about to betray him at any second.

He stumbled toward the house.

“What did you give me?!” he shouted. “I’m not going to make it to the bathroom!”

I placed a hand on my chest, pretending concern.

“Love… are you nervous?”

He froze, pale.

“Nervous?!”

“They say when you’re anxious about a date… your body reacts.”

“I WON’T MAKE IT!”

He rushed toward the stairs.

“Oh—and don’t even think about using the upstairs bathroom,” I added sweetly.

He stopped mid-step.

“Why not?”

“I’m cleaning it.”

What happened next was unforgettable.

My “corporate genius” husband, full of big words like “synergy,” scrambling upstairs with zero dignity left, his “important meeting” clearly canceled.

The bathroom door slammed.

The sounds that followed… dramatic, to say the least.

I sighed.

Then I picked up my phone.

Opened the group chat.

“Girls, is the beer plan still on?”

Replies came instantly.

—Of course!
—We’re waiting!
—Tonight we celebrate freedom!

I touched up my lipstick.

Grabbed my keys.

My bag.

My dignity.

As I headed out, his voice echoed desperately from the bathroom:

“Where are you going?!”

I smiled.

“To a meeting,” I replied.

I paused just long enough.

“The important kind… you know.”

And I left.

But that wasn’t the end.