Spoiled Son Demands Money For Doing His Chores

Wesley leaned back in his chair and pushed his plate away.

“Meatloaf again?” he groaned. “Can’t we have something else for once?”

His mother’s smile faded.

“We had roast chicken yesterday, hamburgers the day before, and fish on Friday…” she pointed out.

Wesley rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

He stood up, ready to leave the table when his mother called after him.

“Wesley, please rinse your plate and put it in the dishwasher.”

He turned back with a smirk. “Why should I? I’m not your slave!”

His mother gasped. “My slave?”

“Yeah,” Wesley said smugly. “Work without pay is slavery, and you don’t pay me!”

His father set down his fork. “Son, we house you, feed you, clothe you, and send you to school—”

“That’s your duty!” Wesley cut him off. “The law says you have to do it. But I don’t have to do anything unless I get paid.”

His mother’s face turned red with anger, but his father simply leaned back, stroking his chin.

“So you think you should be paid for doing chores?” his father asked calmly.

Wesley grinned, feeling victorious. “Exactly! If you want me to take out the trash, that’s $1. Washing dishes? $2. Walking the dog, $4. Cleaning my room, $5. And mowing the lawn? That’s a solid $10.”

His mother opened her mouth to argue, but his father held up a hand.

“Alright, Wesley,” his father said, nodding. “From now on, we’ll pay you for every chore you do.”

Wesley’s grin widened.

“But,” his father continued, “since you’re earning your own money, you’ll also start paying for your own expenses.”

Wesley barely heard him. He was too busy thinking about how rich he was about to become.

The next afternoon, Wesley walked in after football practice, starving.

“Mom, what’s for dinner?” he asked, sniffing the air.

His mother was sitting at the table, eating with his dad.

“Turkey pot pie with sweet potatoes and peas,” she said with a sweet smile.

“Awesome! I’m starving!” Wesley rubbed his hands together and reached for a plate.

But his father stopped him.

“Hold on, son. Since you’re making your own money now, your mom won’t be cooking for free anymore. If you’d like dinner, that’ll be $10.”

Wesley’s jaw dropped.

“TEN DOLLARS?! That’s robbery!”

His mother shrugged. “Or you can order something for yourself. Your choice!”

Muttering, Wesley stormed upstairs and ordered pizza.

When it arrived, he realized something horrifying.

With the tip and delivery fee, it cost him $15.

That meant he’d have to work for three days just to pay for one dinner.

Being independent was expensive.

The next morning, the smell of bacon and eggs lured Wesley to the kitchen.

“Mom, can I get my eggs over easy?” he asked sweetly.

“Of course,” she said. “That’ll be $6.”

Wesley froze.

“You’re charging me for breakfast?!”

“Well,” she said, “I could make it for free… but that would make me your slave, wouldn’t it?”

Wesley groaned. “Fine! I’ll just grab some toast.”

His mother held up a hand.

“That’ll be $2.”

His father chuckled from the table. “Welcome to adulthood, son.”

The real shock came when Wesley asked for money for a new football jersey.

“Coach said we need new team jerseys. It’s $70.”

His dad leaned back in his chair.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“So you can give me the money!”

His dad shook his head. “Oh no, son. Now that you’re earning, you have to pay for your own expenses.”

Wesley’s stomach dropped.

“Where am I supposed to get $70?!”

“From your job, of course,” his dad said.

Wesley did the math in his head.

At $5 per chore, it would take two weeks to afford the jersey.

It was all going downhill fast.

That afternoon, Wesley was running late for school.

“Dad, can you give me a ride?” he asked.

“Sure,” his father said. “That’ll be $5.50.”

Wesley’s jaw nearly hit the floor.

“YOU’RE CHARGING ME FOR A RIDE?!”

His father nodded. “A taxi would charge you more.”

Fuming, Wesley walked to school.

By lunchtime, he was exhausted and starving.

He wolfed down cafeteria food, suddenly missing his mother’s home-cooked meals.

Even meatloaf sounds good right now… he thought miserably.

That night, Wesley came downstairs at dinnertime.

He couldn’t afford another pizza.

His parents were already eating, their plates full of steaming mashed potatoes and juicy roast chicken.

His stomach growled.

“Mom… Dad…” he started, his voice small. “Can we talk?”

His father gestured for him to sit.

“What’s on your mind, son?”

Wesley swallowed hard.

“I was wrong.”

His mother raised an eyebrow.

“Go on.”

“I didn’t realize how much you both do for me. I thought I was being smart, but I was just being selfish.”

His mother softened.

“And?”

“And… I’m sorry.” His voice wavered. “I’ll do my chores—without getting paid. Because that’s what families do, right? We help each other.”

His dad smiled and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Now that is the lesson we were hoping you’d learn.”

His mother stood and kissed his forehead.

“And that’s why you’re getting dinner on the house tonight!”

She set a steaming plate in front of him.

“Cottage pie with green beans—your favorite!”

Wesley dug in, savoring every bite.

And just like that, dinner tasted better than it ever had before.