It was embarrassing. For her. I rolled my eyes when I heard about it, but I figured that was the end of my involvement in their circus.
They’d move on, and so would I. But a month ago, an email landed in my inbox with the subject line, Invoice for Outstanding Expenses. My first thought was, This has to be spam.
But when I opened it, my jaw hit the floor. It wasn’t spam. It was a detailed bill from Stephanie, complete with a spreadsheet of supposed expenses I had “caused” during my marriage to Matt.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Here’s a taste of what she listed:
$300 for Matt’s eye doctor appointment and new glasses: “Because you didn’t notice his vision was deteriorating during your marriage.”
$2,500 for a new wardrobe: “Because his clothes were outdated and unflattering, a reflection of neglect.”
$200 for therapy sessions: “To undo the emotional damage caused by your lack of support.”
$500 for a fitness coach: “To rebuild his self-esteem after years of being ignored.”
$1,000 for a new mattress: “To replace the one you bought, which gave him back pain.”
$100 for a meal planning course: “Because he only learned to eat properly after meeting me.”
The total? Over $5,000.
She ended the email with a little note. It read, As his wife, I’ve invested heavily in fixing him. It’s only fair you contribute.
I was shocked. Was this a joke? I thought.
Who sends their husband’s ex-wife a bill like that? At that point, I decided I wouldn’t let this slide. I wasn’t going to pay her.
But I sure was going to have some fun with this. At first, I drafted a scathing reply. It had paragraphs of how absurd and ridiculous her email was.
But then I thought, No, that’s too easy. Let’s make this memorable. I decided to have a little fun.
I sat down, took a deep breath, and began typing a counter-invoice. It was one of the most satisfying emails I’ve ever written. Here’s a snippet:
Subject: Response to Invoice for Outstanding Expenses
Dear Stephanie,
Thank you for your detailed email.
I must say, it gave me quite the laugh! However, I do have a few clarifications and additional charges you might have missed. Let’s start with the eye doctor appointment.
Funny you mentioned that. Matt refused to go for years because he didn’t want to “look like a nerd.” I’m glad you finally convinced him otherwise. The wardrobe expenses?
Oh, I remember that well. Matt had an entire collection of “ironic graphic tees” that he adored. He was particularly fond of the one that said, “Taco Tuesday Is My Religion.” I wasn’t about to fight a grown man over his wardrobe choices.
As for therapy? I fully support his journey of self-improvement. I’m just surprised he didn’t start sooner.
I hope his therapist is helping him work through his fear of putting the toilet seat down. Now, about that mattress. Ah, yes, the one with built-in cup holders.
That was Matt’s dream purchase for his “gaming nights.” I’m sure the upgrade has been worth it. And the meal planning course? Wow.
I didn’t realize it took professional training to understand that vegetables are good for you. Perhaps I should’ve hired a life coach to teach him how to load a dishwasher properly. But since we’re discussing expenses, I’ve compiled my own counter-invoice for you:
$10,000 for managing all household responsibilities while Matt played video games for five years.
$15,000 for emotional labor, including constantly reminding him to call his mom, go to the dentist, and pay his bills. $5,000 for lost brain cells from listening to his business ideas — like that app that matches people by their favorite pizza toppings. Total: $30,000.
Payable in full by next Friday. Warm regards,
Your predecessor
I hit send, but I wasn’t done yet. Just for fun, I CC’d a few mutual friends.
Within hours, my phone started blowing up with calls and messages. “Emma, this is legendary.” “I’m framing this and hanging it in my kitchen!”
Stephanie, of course, wasn’t thrilled. She tried to explain herself, but the more she talked, the worse she sounded.
She claimed she was only trying to “set things right” and ensure Matt wasn’t “left with baggage from his past.”
Eventually, Matt called me. “Emma… I’m sorry,” he said, sighing into the phone. “I had no idea she’d do that.”
It was the first apology I’d ever received from him.
“Matt,” I replied, “it’s fine. Just make sure you pay that invoice.”
The cherry on top? At a mutual friend’s party a few weeks later, someone asked Matt if he ever paid me back for the “emotional labor.”
He turned bright red and left the party early.
Now, whenever Stephanie’s name comes up, someone inevitably says, “Oh, you mean the one with the bill?”
And honestly? I regret nothing. Do you have any opinions on this?
Source: amomama
