Hilarious Conversation Ensues When Wife Calls Her Husband
It was an ordinary Tuesday afternoon—one of those days that feels like a placeholder between more important events. The sun sat lazily in the sky, emails piled up unanswered, and nothing remotely interesting was supposed to happen.
Across town, Mark Thompson sat in his office chair, staring at his computer screen as if it had personally offended him. He worked in IT, which meant his job was about 70% fixing problems and 30% explaining—very slowly—to people that turning something off and on again was not witchcraft.
He had just taken a sip of lukewarm coffee when his phone buzzed.
Incoming call: Sarah (Wife)
Mark smiled. Sarah rarely called during work hours unless it was important… or unless something had gone mildly wrong and she needed immediate emotional validation.
He answered.
“Hey, babe,” he said warmly. “What’s up?”
There was a pause on the other end.
Then Sarah said, in a very calm, very controlled voice,
“Before you say anything… I need you to tell me the truth.”
“That depends,” he said cautiously. “Is this one of those conversations where the truth will be used against me in a court of marriage?”
Another pause.
“…Mark.”
“Okay, okay. Truth. What’s going on?”
Sarah exhaled sharply. “Do you remember this morning when you said, ‘Don’t forget to lock the door when you leave’?”
Mark nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Yes?”
“And do you remember how you said it twice?”
“And do you remember how I said, ‘Mark, I’m not a child. I know how doors work’?”
Mark winced. “Vividly.”
“Well,” Sarah said, her tone sweet in a way that felt legally suspicious, “I just came home.”
Mark’s stomach tightened. “Okay.”
“And the front door,” she continued, “was wide open.”
Mark swallowed. “Wide open… like metaphorically? Or—”
“LIKE A WELCOMING EMBRACE,” she snapped. “Like we were hosting an open house for burglars, raccoons, and the occasional emotionally lost squirrel.”
Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sarah—”
“And,” she added, “before you start blaming me, I checked the door camera.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
Another pause.
“I watched myself,” Sarah said, “leave the house… lock the door… tug on the handle… nod in satisfaction… and walk away.”
Mark blinked. “Then how—”
“MARK.”
“Yes?”
“I NEED YOU TO EXPLAIN TO ME,” she said slowly, “HOW THE DOOR UNLOCKED ITSELF.”
Mark stared at his screen. “Okay, so—hear me out—”
“No.”
“—there are some doors that—”
“No, Mark.”
“—have faulty latches—”
“Mark.”
“—and sometimes temperature changes—”
“Mark, I swear on our marriage if you say the words ‘ghost’—”
“It might be a ghost.”
There it was.
Sarah laughed once. Not a happy laugh. The kind of laugh you hear right before someone Googles “how to disappear a husband.”
“A ghost,” she repeated.
“Possibly,” Mark said, warming to the idea. “I mean, statistically speaking—”
“You think our house is haunted.”
“I’m saying we shouldn’t rule it out.”
Sarah sighed deeply. “Mark.”
“Yes, honey?”
“I am standing in our living room.”
“Okay.”
“Alone.”
“Okay.”
“With the door wide open.”
“Yes.”
“And you think this is the moment to introduce paranormal theories.”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
There was a rustling sound, followed by a loud thump.
“What was that?” Mark asked.
“I dropped my keys,” Sarah said. “Because I briefly considered throwing them at something.”
“Understandable.”
She took another breath. “Okay. New question.”
“Shoot.”
“Did you—at any point—come home after I left?”
Mark frowned. “No. I’ve been at work all day.”
“Did you give someone a key?”
“No.”
“Did you unlock the door remotely with some weird tech thing?”
“I work in IT, not Mission Impossible.”
Sarah muttered something under her breath that sounded like a prayer mixed with a threat.
“Fine,” she said. “I’m going to assume the house is not haunted.”
“Bold assumption,” Mark murmured.
“And I’m going to assume,” she continued, “that something normal happened.”
“Such as?”
“Such as the door didn’t latch properly.”
“Which is what I said earlier,” Mark pointed out.
“You said ghost.”
“After.”
There was silence.
Then Sarah said, “Mark.”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember last weekend when you tried to fix the door?”
Mark froze.
“…Define ‘fix.’”
Sarah closed her eyes. “You said the latch was ‘a little sticky.’”
“It was sticky.”
“And you said you’d ‘take a quick look.’”
“Yes.”
“And by ‘take a quick look,’” she continued, “you meant take it apart completely, watch half a YouTube video, and then say, ‘Eh, good enough.’”
Mark hesitated. “I feel attacked.”
“Did. You. Fix. The. Door.”
“I improved it,” he said defensively.
Sarah inhaled sharply. “MARK.”
“It closes smoother now!”
“MARK!”
“Okay, okay! Maybe I loosened something a bit too much.”
“So the door—”
“—may have—”
“—UNLOCKED ITSELF—”
“—due to gravity.”
There it was again. Silence.
Sarah finally spoke, her voice eerily calm. “Mark.”
“Yes, dear?”
“When you get home,” she said, “we’re having a conversation.”
Mark nodded. “That sounds fair.”
“And you,” she added, “are fixing the door.”
“Absolutely.”
“And until then,” she said, “I am sitting in the car.”
“Probably smart.”
“With the doors locked.”
“Very smart.”
“And if anything weird happens,” she concluded, “I am blaming you.”
“That’s also fair.”
She hung up.
Mark set his phone down and stared at it.
A coworker leaned over the cubicle wall. “Everything okay?”
Mark sighed. “I may have created a haunted door.”
Later That Evening
When Mark got home, the door was closed. Locked. Very locked.
Sarah opened it just enough to look at him.
“Password,” she said.
“Since when do we have a password?”
“Since the door tried to betray me.”
Mark thought for a moment. “Uh… ‘No ghosts allowed’?”
She stared at him.
“…Wrong password?”
She opened the door fully and stepped aside. “Fix. It.”
Mark grabbed his toolbox like a man heading into battle.
Two hours later, after much tinkering, sweating, and at least one curse word aimed at a tiny screw, Mark stepped back.
“There,” he said proudly. “Fixed.”
Sarah crossed her arms. “Test it.”
Mark closed the door. Locked it. Tugged on the handle.
Nothing.
He nodded. “Solid.”
Sarah nodded. “Again.”
He did it again.
“Again.”
He sighed but complied.
Finally, Sarah smiled. “Okay.”
They sat on the couch, exhausted.
“You know,” Sarah said, “this whole thing could’ve been avoided if you hadn’t tried to fix it in the first place.”
Mark grinned. “But then we wouldn’t have discovered the haunted door.”
She laughed despite herself. “If that door unlocks itself again—”
“—we’re moving,” Mark finished.
“Agreed.”
His phone buzzed.
Door Camera Alert: Motion Detected
They both froze.
Slowly, Sarah turned to him.
“…Mark.”
He swallowed.
The notification updated.
Status: Door Secure
Mark exhaled. “False alarm.”
Sarah leaned back. “Good.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
Then Sarah said, “Still… maybe we should sage the house.”
Mark smiled. “Just in case.”
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