My entitled husband booked first-class tickets for himself and his mother, while sticking me and our kids in economy. But I wasn’t about to let that slide. I made sure his so-called luxury flight came with a little turbulence—one that taught him a lesson he won’t forget anytime soon.
My name’s Rachel, and this is the story of how my husband, Adrian, took selfishness to new heights—literally. You know the type: overworked, constantly on edge, always glued to a screen, convinced that his job is the center of the universe? That’s Adrian.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I understand stress. I’ve been juggling two kids, a home, a part-time job, and everything in between. So when he offered to handle booking our holiday flights to visit his family last month, I was thrilled. One less thing on my plate. Foolishly, I thought, “Wow, he’s finally stepping up.”
Oh, Rachel. You sweet, unsuspecting idiot.
The day of the flight, I was managing full chaos mode at the airport—toddler on one hip, a diaper bag hanging off my shoulder, and a five-year-old tugging at my coat asking for snacks—when I realized something felt… off.
“Hey, Adrian,” I asked, adjusting my grip on our wriggling toddler. “Where are our seats?”
He didn’t even look up from his phone. “Oh, um… about that,” he said, his voice a little too casual.
That’s when the knot in my stomach started to tighten. “What do you mean?”
He finally glanced up and gave me a sheepish grin. “Well, I managed to upgrade to first class—for me and Mom. You know how she gets on long flights. She needs the legroom, and I really need some peace to catch up on work…”
I blinked. Surely he was joking.
“So you and your mother are in first class,” I repeated slowly, “and I’m in economy… with both kids?”
He gave me this ridiculous shrug. “It’s only a few hours, Rach. You’ll manage. You always do.”
At that exact moment, his mother, Marlene, swept over, dragging a designer suitcase behind her.
“Oh, Adrian! There you are, darling. Ready for our fabulous flight?” she chirped, giving me a smug once-over before linking her arm with his.
I just stared at them as they sauntered off toward the first-class lounge, leaving me and the kids standing in the middle of the terminal like yesterday’s laundry.
“Fabulous flight, huh?” I muttered. “We’ll see about that.”
What Adrian didn’t know was that while they were distracted earlier—chatting away at the security line—I had slipped his wallet out of the side pocket of his carry-on and tucked it into my bag. Just in case. Call it foresight. Call it pettiness. Call it karma.
Boarding the plane was every bit as stressful as you’d imagine. Our toddler refused to walk. Our oldest was whining about not sitting with Daddy. I was sweating, juggling bags, snacks, wipes, and crushed crackers. Meanwhile, Adrian and Marlene were sipping champagne in their plush seats, fully reclined with warm towels on their faces.
“Mommy, why can’t we sit up there?” my five-year-old asked, pointing to the front cabin.
“Because Daddy’s a very special kind of selfish,” I muttered under my breath.
“What?”
“Nothing, sweetie. Let’s get you buckled in.”
Two hours into the flight, things had finally settled. Both kids were napping. I leaned back in my seat, clutching a sad little bag of pretzels, and glanced toward the curtain separating economy from first class.
Then I saw it: the cart. The flight attendant was pushing a tray loaded with gourmet meals and top-shelf liquor toward first class. I caught a glimpse of Adrian ordering something off the premium menu, laughing like he didn’t have a care in the world.
That was my cue.
I flagged down the economy flight attendant. “Just water, please,” I said. “And maybe a little popcorn. I think I’m about to enjoy a very interesting show.”
Thirty minutes later, showtime began.
I spotted Adrian standing suddenly, patting his pockets, checking under his seat. He was panicking. He waved down a flight attendant. I couldn’t hear the conversation, but his flailing arms and growing frustration were enough to paint the picture.
“No, no, I had it earlier… It was in my bag… Can’t I just pay when we land?” he pleaded.
The attendant stood firm, holding out the bill and clearly requesting payment right then and there.
Adrian looked like he was about to have a meltdown. Eventually, he trudged down the aisle—back to economy, back to me.
“Rachel,” he whispered, crouching down beside me. “I lost my wallet. Please tell me you have some cash.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh no, that’s awful. How much do you need?”
“Uh… like, fifteen hundred?”
I nearly choked on my water. “Fifteen hundred dollars?! What did you order? A lobster flown in from Paris?”
He didn’t laugh.
“I ordered a meal and a few drinks for Mom too… Look, this is serious. Do you have it or not?”
I pretended to rummage through my bag. “Let me see… I’ve got about two hundred in cash.”
His eyes lit up with hope.
I handed him a crisp bill and said sweetly, “Hey—doesn’t your mom have her credit card? I bet she’d love to help out.”
The horror on his face was delicious. “She doesn’t know I lost my wallet. Please don’t make me ask her.”
I shrugged. “Seems like a you problem.”
He slinked back up the aisle with my two hundred dollars and probably a massive serving of humble pie.
The rest of the flight was a treat. The attendants made frequent visits to first class—none of which looked pleasant. At one point, Marlene’s voice rose just loud enough for me to hear a high-pitched “How could you forget your wallet, Adrian?!”
In economy, I stretched out as far as I could, popped in some earbuds, and snacked on graham crackers while watching cartoons with the kids. Not luxurious, but it was oddly satisfying.
Just before landing, Adrian returned.
“Rach,” he said, eyes scanning the floor. “Have you really not seen my wallet? I swear I had it this morning.”
I gave him my best wide-eyed innocent look. “No idea. Maybe you left it at home.”
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I just hope no one picked it up and ran off with it. Everything’s in there. All our cards…”
“Yikes,” I said, patting his arm. “Well, at least you got to enjoy first class, right?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, “real enjoyable.”
After the flight, Marlene practically sprinted to the restroom to escape the awkward tension. Adrian looked like he’d aged ten years.
“I can’t believe this happened,” he mumbled, checking his bags for the tenth time. “Maybe the airline can track it down.”
“Maybe,” I said, zipping my purse shut with a satisfying snap.
Because yes, dear reader, the wallet was still safely tucked away in my bag.
I let him squirm for a couple of days. I watched him cancel cards, make calls, and stress about fraudulent charges. And when I finally “found” the wallet inside one of his jackets—right before he was about to report it stolen—I made sure to act thoroughly surprised.
“Oh! Look what I found! Must’ve slipped into your coat when you hung it on the chair. Silly me!”
He hugged me like I’d saved his life. And to be fair, I probably did.
But the best part? I treated myself to a new spa robe and a luxury face mask with his card before returning it.
Just a little compensation for managing two kids in economy while he sipped champagne in the clouds.
So, to anyone with a partner who thinks first class is a solo adventure: never underestimate a tired mom with a good memory and a petty streak.
Because in marriage, as in air travel, karma always flies coach—until she gets upgraded by sheer wit.
