Too many cooks in the kitchen after wife gets an MBA
“Hesh, where’s your business plan?” It was a question I expected from my banker, but not from my wife. She tried to sugarcoat it by adding, “Honey?” She didn’t help. I looked at her with disgust. I realized that she had created a monster.
Let me explain. I had encouraged Sue to go back to school. The kids were entering high school, she was bored with carpooling, and we could use the extra money too.
I told her not to limit herself to speech therapy, her profession before having children. I suggested that he see a professional psychologist. To my surprise, he did very well in finance. I think it was related to his compulsiveness for details. So, as always, luck played his part.
The business school was under pressure to attract more women over 40 to its mid-career MBA program. Sue applied, she was accepted, and a year later she had an MBA (and I’m proud to say that she finished in the top 10 percent of her class).
But then he crossed the line. Sue started getting involved in my business. We always had a non-verbal agreement. She stayed out of my business, aside from answering the phones when my secretary went on three-month maternity leave. And I stayed out of her gourmet kitchen. She hated all those husbands who thought they could star in their own cooking shows on cable TV.
And yet, he couldn’t let this problem go. I thought I had found manna from God again. I was willing to bet all of this year’s profit on acquiring my competitor’s inventory. The guy was winding up his company after 20 years in business. Sue saw this as a sign that future growth was unlikely. I, on the other hand, saw it as an opportunity to buy low, sell high, and make a big profit.
It reminded me of some of my other purchases that were real dogs. I countered, reminding him of the only murder he had ever committed; that deal had paid off the mortgage on our beach condo.
Sue continued to pepper me with questions about projected sales, potential competition from China, storage costs, and rising interest rates. She the whole time she was putting the numbers into a spreadsheet on her laptop.
He turned it over and showed me the results. His projections showed that he had miscalculated. She thought that she would be very proud of her work. Instead, I stormed out.
She followed me up the stairs. “Don’t shut up,” she yelled at her. “Remember what Walter (our marriage counselor) told you. Stop distancing yourself. Tell me how you really feel. Tell me right now.”
“Okay,” I snapped. “Stay out of my business. When I started, I had no help. I did it all by myself. Sure, I made mistakes, but I kept working harder.
“Now you want to get involved, use all your MBA smarts to improve the business? And who’s going to get all the credit? You.”
He went on to rant, “OMG I married you because I thought you really respected me as an equal. Now I realize you’re jealous. You’re like your friends. You’re afraid I’m smarter than you and you may not deal with it.” “.
She quickly calmed down and asked, “Honey, how can we fix this problem? I love you too much to let this come between us.”
“Let me cook dinner for Sunday night,” I told her. “I have this great braised beef recipe.”
His response was quick and emphatic: “Hell no. Stay out of my kitchen.”