Let me introduce myself—I’m Sophie, and my husband, Clark, is the type of guy who thinks his job is the center of the universe. Don’t get me wrong, I respect his hard work, but sometimes his priorities make me wonder if he’s living on a completely different planet. This holiday season, he really outdid himself, and not in a good way.
The plan was simple: visit his family for the holidays, relax, and make some memories with our kids. Clark took charge of booking the flights, and I foolishly thought I had one less thing to worry about. Oh, how wrong I was.
At the airport, juggling our toddler on my hip and a diaper bag in one hand, I casually asked, “Clark, where are our seats?” He barely looked up from his phone and muttered, “About that…”
That’s when it hit me—something was off.
“What do you mean, ‘about that’?” I asked, already bracing for whatever nonsense he was about to say.
“Well, I managed to snag first-class upgrades for me and Mom. You know how she gets on long flights, and I need some rest too…”
I stared at him, waiting for him to laugh and say he was joking. But no, he was dead serious.
“So, let me get this straight—you and your mom are sitting in first class, and I’m stuck in economy with the kids?”
Clark shrugged. “It’s just a few hours, Soph. Don’t be dramatic. You’ll manage.”
Before I could respond, his mother, Nadia, appeared, practically glowing with smugness. “Ready for our luxurious flight, Clark?” she chirped, clutching her designer luggage.
They strolled off to the first-class lounge, leaving me to wrestle two cranky kids and a growing sense of fury.
As we boarded the plane, I noticed Clark and Nadia enjoying champagne in their spacious first-class seats. Meanwhile, I struggled to settle the kids in economy, squeezing our carry-on into the overhead bin while Max complained about not sitting with Daddy.
That’s when my petty genius kicked in.
Earlier, while going through security, I’d “accidentally” slipped Clark’s wallet from his carry-on into my bag. I wasn’t sure why I’d done it at the time, but now it felt like the universe had handed me an opportunity.
Halfway through the flight, I saw Clark indulging in every first-class luxury imaginable—gourmet meals, top-shelf drinks, the works. I smiled, knowing exactly what was coming.
Sure enough, about thirty minutes later, he started frantically searching his pockets. His expression quickly turned to panic. I couldn’t hear the exchange, but it was clear the flight attendant wasn’t letting him off the hook without payment.
Moments later, Clark appeared in economy, crouching next to my seat. “Soph, I think I lost my wallet. Do you have any cash?”
I feigned concern. “Oh no, that’s terrible! How much do you need?”
“About $1,500…”
I barely stifled a laugh. “What did you order, a gold-plated steak?”
“Soph, this isn’t funny! Do you have it or not?”
I pretended to rummage through my purse. “I’ve got $200. That’s all I can spare.”
Desperate, he muttered something about asking his mom for help. Watching him shuffle back to first class with his tail between his legs was more satisfying than any revenge plot I could’ve dreamed up.
By the time we landed, Clark was sour-faced and exhausted. “I still can’t believe I lost my wallet,” he grumbled.
I smiled sweetly. “Maybe you left it at home? Don’t worry, honey—we’ll figure it out.”
I decided to keep the wallet hidden a little longer, just to remind him who he’d left in economy. And yes, I treated myself to a little something with his card before eventually returning it. A girl’s gotta have her justice, after all.
Next time, maybe Clark will think twice before upgrading himself at my expense. In life, as in travel, we’re all in this together—whether it’s first class or economy.