My husband had to attend a Christmas party at work, so right before he left, I grabbed a marker and jokingly wrote across his chest:
“THIS IS MY HUSBAND. IF YOU TOUCH HIM, YOU’LL PAY FOR IT.”
He laughed, kissed my forehead, and promised he’d be home “early.”
Of course… he didn’t.
By the time I heard the front door click open, the night was already turning into morning. He stumbled in with his tie crooked, hair messy, and that warm, slightly-too-happy smile that told me he’d definitely enjoyed the open bar.
“Baaabe,” he slurred, arms wide like he was greeting an audience. “You should’ve seen the dance floor.”
I tried to act annoyed, but I couldn’t stop laughing. I walked him to the bedroom, guiding him like he was a wobbly Christmas ornament on legs. He sat on the edge of the bed while I started helping him undress.
That’s when I saw it.
Across his back, written in bold marker, was a reply.
“CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.”
My laughter vanished instantly.
My stomach dropped so fast it felt like I’d missed a step on the stairs. I just stared, frozen, while a hundred thoughts raced through my head.
I leaned closer, my eyes scanning the letters like maybe they would rearrange themselves into something harmless.
They didn’t.
My heart pounded as I turned him slightly, trying to keep my voice calm.
“Who… wrote that?”
He blinked, confused. “Wrote what?”
I spun him toward the mirror. His eyes widened when he saw the message, then he burst into loud, uncontrollable laughter.
“Oh my GOD,” he wheezed. “I forgot!”
“Forgot?” I repeated, not laughing at all.
He held up a finger dramatically, like he was about to reveal a top secret mission.
“My boss,” he said. “My boss’s wife. She’s a tiny woman with a scary smile. She saw your message in the bathroom when I took my shirt off because someone spilled eggnog on me.”
I crossed my arms. “And?”
“And she said, ‘Oh, we’re doing this?’”
He was still giggling. “She made everyone sign me like a yearbook.”
My eyebrows tightened. “Everyone?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “I have more.”
I pulled him forward again.
Sure enough, there were extra notes scribbled underneath.
“RETURN HIM SAFE OR ELSE.”
“PROPERTY OF HIS WIFE 😂”
“10/10 GOOD GUY.”
I stared for a moment… then finally started laughing too, the tension melting out of my chest.
He collapsed onto the pillow with a goofy smile. “See? No cheating. Just… aggressive holiday teamwork.”
I shook my head, grabbed a warm washcloth, and started scrubbing the marker off his back.
As he drifted to sleep, he mumbled, “Next year… write it on my forehead.”
And honestly?
I just might.
