I thought I was being a good wife, planning Todd’s 35th birthday dinner. But just before guests arrived, he said he was skipping it to watch the game at a bar. That was the last straw.

Todd’s entitlement had been building for years. At Thanksgiving, he told me to “make it memorable” while he did nothing, then took credit when everyone praised the food. Last year, when I gave him a photo album filled with memories, his response was: “So, where’s the real gift?”

Still, I worked for weeks on his big birthday dinner. The table was set, the food perfect. Then he shrugged, “Cancel everything. I’m heading to the bar with the guys.”

Instead, I loaded all the food into the car and took it to the bar. In front of his buddies, I announced, “This was supposed to be my husband’s birthday dinner, but he ditched me. So, why let it go to waste?” Soon, family, friends, and strangers were eating and laughing—especially when I revealed the cake: “Happy Birthday to My Selfish Husband!”

Todd was humiliated, but the message landed. Two weeks later, he’s more polite. As I told him: “You humiliated yourself.”