(I am working 16 hours a week, which is all I really want, as I have small children and want to contribute to the household finances. I also work every other weekend. The manager calls me into the office.)

Manager: “[My Name], I’m wondering if you could do me a favour?”

Me: “What is it?”

Manager: “Well, I have someone in mind to fill [Coworker]’s position when she leaves next week, but she can’t join us for another month. Would you be interested in working full-time until she can take over?”

Me: “Of course I can, just as long as I go back to 16 hours a week afterwards.”

Manager: “Of course, you will go back to your normal hours.”

(It’s four weeks later, and I get called back into the office.)

Manager: *snapping at me* “I have [Name] starting next week, and I know that you aren’t going to honour our agreement of going back to your job.” *I actually can’t be forced to*

Me: *stunned* “Of course I will; I gave you my word.”

Manager: “Well, I don’t think you will.”

Me: “I made an agreement with you that I intend to stick to; all I want is to go back to 16 hours like you promised.”

Manager: “I stick to my word; I’m not sure about you.”

(The new staff member started, who just happened to be personal friend of the manager. The roster came out and I found I was now working just 12 hours a week and am rostered on every weekend.)

(Our two-car garage is a mess. My husband insists I have to help tidy it.)

Husband: “We’ll take sides; you do that side and I’ll do this side. Most of the things on your side are yours.”

(I get to work tidying my side. He’s constantly watching so I don’t throw out anything that might remotely be his. If he’s not doing that, he’s fiddling around with his tools, not actually doing any tidying. I get my side looking good, and even set up a table so I can do some crafting out there. It’s taken me half the day, and his side has barely been touched.)

Me: “Okay, I’m finished, just in time to cook dinner.”

(It takes about half an hour to cook the dinner, and when it’s ready, I call my husband in.)

Me: “Are you going to continue cleaning after you eat?”

Husband: “I’m completely finished; my side of the garage is clean.”

(I couldn’t believe that he’d taken just half an hour to do it, after doing almost nothing out there for almost four hours. I walked out to find that the mess and rubbish from his side had now been moved to my side. The next day, he showed his brother his tidy side of the garage and what my side looks like. His brother has often called me lazy in the past, and this is no exception. My husband now wonders why I have to take photos of everything I do.)

(Our load of plastic shopping bags doesn’t come in, and we end up running out. We start using the environmentally-friendly bags, which are usually $2, free of charge to pack the shopping with.)

Me: “Hi, how are you this evening?”

Customer: “Where are your plastic bags? I want plastic bags. I don’t want to be charged with these rubbish enviro-friendly bags.”

Me: “Sorry, sir, but we have actually run out of plastic bags. But we’re not charging you for these bags, as it was not your fault we ran out.”

Customer: “I don’t believe you; go check the back for plastic bags!”

Me: “Sir, trust me; we’ve run out of them. We’re losing money by giving these bags out for free, and they are more difficult to pack. If we had plastic bags I’d be more than happy to use them, but because we clearly don’t, you’ll just have to put up with these bags that are normally $2, free of charge.”

(By this point he got quiet, and paid and left. I wished him a good night and he smiled back.)

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(I am setting up a new fish tank and have bought a light from a store. When I try to set it up, I find that the light doesn’t work and there are actually scorch marks around the fluorescent starter. I return it to the store, I have just been given my money back, and I am walking away from the service desk.)

Cashier: “Hey, [Coworker], that fish tank light has been returned again.”

(We don’t argue very often but when we do, my husband usually makes a comment that I should just pack up and leave. It’s never him doing the leaving; it’s always me — especially when the argument is not going his way. He’s following a pattern that I’ve seen his parents follow with each other. Saying anything about it just starts a whole new argument. We’ve had one of these arguments, he’s gone to work the next day, and I’ve stripped everything of mine out of the bedroom. I leave my drawers and wardrobe open for effect. Our teenagers have noticed and asked what I am doing as I carry everything to our back room.)

Me: “Oh, I’m just sorting through my clothes and stuff. I need to get rid of things and de-clutter.”

(I am sitting out, folding and sorting, when I hear my husband get home and go into the bedroom. A few moments later I hear him in the kitchen with my son.)

Husband: *very quietly* “Do you know where Mum is?”

Son: “Yeah, she is in the family room.”

(I don’t even acknowledge him as he looks in the door, just keep folding my clothes while watching TV. I think my passive-aggressive lesson worked; he’s never made a comment like that in the five years since.)