He Called Me Reckless for $9 Nails

As the New Year drew near, I, the top sales manager at my company, closed a massive deal.

To celebrate the $3 million annual bonus that was about to hit my account, a colleague suggested we treat ourselves to a $9 manicure at the salon downstairs from the office.

But when I arrived home excitedly, ready to share the good news with my husband Mark, his expression soured the second he noticed my nails.

“You just have money to burn or what? How are you supposed to do housework with those things?”

Mark’s sister, Tiffany, shrieked in protest.

“Sarah, how much did Mark pay for that manicure? You’re such a wasteful spender!”

I just laughed it off.

Fine, whatever. If that’s how it’s going to be.

Then I’m done being your unpaid maid!

The minute I walked through the front door, Tiffany’s complaining voice echoed through the house.

“Sarah, why are you home so late? Hurry up and make dinner—I’m starving!”

My husband Mark Miller came over, planning to check the groceries I’d bought. But his eyes immediately locked onto my new manicure, and his face turned dark.

“You were late because you went to get your nails done, weren’t you?”

“Where do you get off wasting money like that? It’ll ruin your ability to do housework!”

Hearing Mark’s accusations, I instinctively defended myself.

“It wasn’t expensive. This manicure only cost $9.”

My mother-in-law Brenda Miller, who was sitting on the couch munching snacks, dramatically stood up and pointed at me, launching into a rant.

“Are your fingers made of gold? Wasting all that money… do you realize how many household things $9 could buy?”

“My son works so hard for his money, and you’re just throwing it away like this!”

Tiffany grabbed my hand, scowling as she chimed in with Brenda.

“Sarah just loves wasting money. What’s even the point of that stupid manicure? You should save up and buy me a new designer purse instead.”

Brenda snorted.

“I’ve lived this long and never splurged on something so pricey for my nails.”

“Besides, if you cook with those things on, aren’t you going to poison the whole family?”

After saying that, Brenda grabbed my hand, ready to drag me back to the nail salon to get the manicure removed and get our nine dollars back.

I pulled away, growing irritated.

“That money can’t be refunded.”

“Besides, I didn’t spend Mark’s money. I have my own salary, and today I even…”

Before I could finish, Mark suddenly cut me off.

“Aren’t your earnings our money too?”

“All you do is fool around with these silly things, and you can’t even take care of your husband or respect your mother-in-law. Go ask around—no one has a daughter-in-law like you!”

I always thought I was a good wife.

After we got married, Mark moved his mom and sister from their hometown to live in the house I bought.

Over the years, his monthly salary was barely over a thousand dollars, and I covered all the household expenses.

Tiffany never got a job after college, and I gave her monthly allowance—not to mention her constant demands for money to buy designer bags and luxury items.

Even Brenda, who gambled every day, would hit me up for money whether she won or lost.

Yet Tiffany carried the designer bags I bought her, Mark wore the clothes I purchased for him, and Brenda flaunted the bracelet I gifted her.

And this family had the audacity to call me wasteful over a $9 manicure.

When Brenda realized she couldn’t get the manicure money back, she threw a fit.

“I don’t care! One way or another, you need to get that stuff off your nails.”

Only when I told her removing the manicure would cost extra did Brenda back off, but she immediately started in again about how wasteful I was with money.

Brenda glanced around, then put on a fake conciliatory tone.

“Here’s a compromise—hand over your debit card. I’ll hold onto it from now on so you don’t go wasting money again.”

Tiffany snickered and joined in: “Exactly, you can’t be trusted with your debit card anymore.”

“Today it’s a manicure, tomorrow it’s your eyebrows, and who knows? Next thing you’ll be all dolled up flirting with other men.”

Mark was insecure and not the sharpest tool in the shed. At Tiffany’s words, he immediately reached for my purse.

“Hand over the debit card—now!”