My Husband Kept Going Bare-Chested Whenever My Sister Came Over, Saying, 'She Doesn't See Men like Me Every Day' – So I Taught Him a Lesson He Won't Forget

Greg's T-shirt was draped over a kitchen chair even though he'd been wearing it when my sister arrived. By the time he told Brittany she was lucky to have a brother-in-law worth admiring, I knew his confidence needed a mirror. So I went upstairs and brought back something with his exact words on it.

The first time Greg walked into the kitchen shirtless while my sister was there, I didn't think much of it.

Brittany and I were at the table with coffee, two laptops, and a spreadsheet that insisted our small business had sold twelve more units than we actually possessed.

I didn't think much of it.

Greg came in sweaty from a workout.

No shirt.

Just sweatpants and sneakers.

"Hey, Brittany."

"Hey."

She immediately returned to her laptop.

Greg made a protein shake, drank half of it while standing at the counter, then disappeared upstairs.

Just sweatpants and sneakers.

Brittany looked at me.

I looked at her.

Neither of us said anything.

It was his house.

He'd just exercised.

Fine.

And honestly, I was proud of him.

He'd just exercised.

***

At forty-eight, Greg had recently decided he wanted to take better care of himself. He joined a gym, changed the way he ate, and lost almost forty-five pounds.

But the number wasn't what impressed me.

Greg had recently decided he wanted to take better care of himself.

He slept better.

Had more energy.

Stopped complaining about his knees every time we climbed stairs.

And yes, he looked good.

I told him constantly.

Apparently, I wasn't a sufficiently independent review board.

And yes, he looked good.

The next time Brittany came over, it was after dinner.

Greg had eaten with me less than an hour earlier.

Yet somehow, while Brittany and I were discussing inventory, he became desperately hungry.

He entered the kitchen.

Again, no shirt.

While Brittany and I were discussing inventory, he became desperately hungry.

"Oh, Brittany. How are you doing?"

"Good."

Her eyes stayed on the laptop.

Greg opened the refrigerator.

Closed it.

Opened a cabinet.

Closed that too.

"Oh, Brittany. How are you doing?"

I watched him.

"What are you looking for?"

"Something to eat."

"You had two servings of dinner."

"I worked out today."

"Four hours ago."

He ignored that and eventually left with six almonds.

Six.

"You had two servings of dinner."

After Brittany went home, I found him watching television.

"Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you please wear a shirt when Brittany's here?"

He looked genuinely surprised.

"Why?"

"Because it's awkward."

"Could you please wear a shirt when Brittany's here?"

"For who?"

"For me, for starters."

He smiled.

"Oh, come on. Let someone besides you see how good I look now."

I stared at him.

He flexed one arm.

"She doesn't see men like me every day anyway."

"Let someone besides you see how good I look now."

"She came over to discuss inventory, not inspect yours."

Greg laughed.

I didn't.

"I'm serious. Please put on a T-shirt when she's here."

"Fine."

I should have known that particular "fine."

"Please put on a T-shirt when she's here."

It was the same "fine" Greg used when I asked him not to leave wet towels on the bed.

Technically an acknowledgment.

Legally meaningless.

***

A few days later, Brittany came over so we could review sales.

It was the same "fine" Greg used when I asked him not to leave wet towels on the bed.

Before she arrived, I saw Greg's gym bag near the stairs.

"You going out?"

"Already went."

I looked at him.

He was wearing a T-shirt.

Good.

Maybe we'd solved it.

He was wearing a T-shirt.

Brittany arrived.

We made coffee and opened our laptops.

Twenty minutes later, Greg walked into the kitchen.

Shirtless.

I slowly lowered my mug.

He had changed.

Greg walked into the kitchen... Shirtless.

He'd actually been wearing a shirt and had removed it.

Greg leaned against the counter.

"So, Brittany, take a look. Not bad for a guy who's almost fifty, right?"

Brittany clicked something on her laptop.

"Yeah. Sure."

He'd actually been wearing a shirt and had removed it.

Greg grinned.

"I've been working hard."

"Oh."

"Forty-five pounds."

"That's great."

Brittany opened another spreadsheet even though we hadn't finished the first.

"I've been working hard."

Greg either didn't notice or chose not to.

"I used to hate taking my shirt off. Now I figure, why not?"

I watched my sister study cell F17 like it contained instructions for disarming a bomb.

"Greg," I said.

He kept talking.

"I used to hate taking my shirt off. Now I figure, why not?"

"You'll probably never meet another man my age with a body like mine."

Brittany finally looked up.

Greg smiled.

"So go ahead and admire me. You're lucky to have a brother-in-law like this."

That did it.

"You're lucky to have a brother-in-law like this."

I closed my laptop.

"You know what, honey? You're right."

Greg looked pleased.

"I'll be back in three minutes. I forgot to give you something."

I went upstairs.

"I forgot to give you something."

***

A week earlier, after Greg ignored my request the second time, I'd prepared for the possibility that his new personality might require visual aids.

I returned carrying a small box.

"For you."

I returned carrying a small box.

Greg looked delighted.

"What's this?"

"Open it."

Brittany leaned back.

Greg lifted the lid.

Then stopped.

Inside stood a miniature cardboard version of him.

Shirtless.

Flexing.

"What's this?"

I'd used a picture Greg himself had posted after reaching his latest gym goal.

Above Cardboard Greg's head was a speech bubble.

GO AHEAD. ADMIRE ME.

Brittany made a choking sound and covered her mouth.

Greg stared at me.

"What on earth is this?"

"You."

"What on earth is this?"

Brittany lost the fight and laughed.

Greg pulled the little standee from the box.

"Why would you make this?"

"Keep looking."

Underneath was a print-shop mockup for an order I had designed but not approved.

Same Greg.

Much larger.

"Why would you make this?"

The mockup showed a full-size cardboard version intended for the lobby of his gym.

At the bottom:

FULL-SIZE DISPLAY: APPROVAL PENDING

Greg's eyes widened.

"No."

I sipped my coffee.

"Reese."

"Yes?"

Greg's eyes widened.

"No! How could you? Cancel it right now, please!"

"Why?"

"Why?" He held up Mini Greg. "Because that's humiliating!"

"What part?"

"All of it."

"Be specific."

Greg pointed at the mockup.

"Me standing around half naked asking people to admire me."

"No! How could you? Cancel it right now, please!"

Silence.

Greg looked at the miniature.

Then at Brittany.

Then at himself.

He was still shirtless.

Brittany suddenly became fascinated by her coffee.

Greg put Mini Greg down.

"Okay. Very funny."

He was still shirtless.

"I thought so."

"Cancel the big one."

"You haven't answered my question."

"I did."

"You said it was humiliating."

"It is."

"Why?"

"Because..." He gestured at the cardboard version. "Look at him."

"You haven't answered my question."

"I am."

"He looks ridiculous."

"He's using your exact words."

"I was joking."

I tapped the cardboard standee.

"So is he."

"That's different."

Brittany spoke before I could.

"Greg?"

"He looks ridiculous."

He looked at her.

She shut her laptop.

"I wasn't blushing because I was impressed. I was embarrassed."

Greg stared at her.

"What?"

"The first time you came in without a shirt, I figured you'd just finished exercising."

"I was embarrassed."

She pointed toward the kitchen doorway.

"The second time, I thought it was weird."

Greg shifted his weight.

"And today?"

"Today I wanted to crawl under the table."

"The second time, I thought it was weird."

He looked genuinely stunned.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Because you're my sister's husband. I kept assuming eventually you'd put on a shirt and save all of us the conversation."

I bit the inside of my cheek.

"Why didn't you say something?"

Greg looked at me.

I refused to rescue him.

Then Brittany added, "I almost started texting Reese to ask whether you were home before I came over."

I refused to rescue him.

That wiped away what little amusement remained on his face.

"You did?"

"Twice. Deleted both times."

I turned to her.

"You never told me that."

"You were already trying to handle it."

"You never told me that."

That landed on me too.

I'd been so focused on getting Greg to behave differently that I hadn't actually asked Brittany what his behavior was costing her.

"Okay," I said. "I should've asked you."

I'd been so focused on getting Greg to behave differently.

Greg picked up his shirt from the back of a chair.

Apparently he'd brought it downstairs with him specifically so he could remove it before entering the kitchen.

That detail did not help his case.

He'd brought it downstairs with him.

He put it on.

"I'm sorry, Brittany."

She nodded, but I wasn't finished.

"Greg, why doesn't my opinion count anymore?"

He frowned.

"It does."

"Then why do you need hers?"

"I don't."

"Greg, why doesn't my opinion count anymore?"

"You took your shirt off before coming in here."

He glanced toward the chair.

Caught.

"You wanted Brittany to notice."

Greg rubbed his thumb along the edge of the cardboard standee.

"I guess."

"Why her?"

"You wanted Brittany to notice."

He didn't answer immediately.

Then he looked at Brittany.

"Because she knew me before."

That wasn't what I'd expected.

"Before what?"

"Before all this."

"Because she knew me before."

He gestured toward himself.

"When you tell me I look good, part of me thinks you're supposed to."

"I'm your wife, not a customer-service survey."

Brittany leaned against the table.

"I'm your wife, not a customer-service survey."

Greg gave a small shrug.

"She knew what I looked like before I lost the weight. If she noticed..."

"You'd know it was real," I said.

He nodded.

I remembered the Greg who used to change shirts three times before a barbecue and wouldn't get in a swimming pool on vacation.

"You'd know it was real."

"I was proud of you before anybody noticed," I said.

Greg looked at me.

"I'm proud of the work you did. I'm proud that you have more energy and feel better." Then I pointed at Brittany. "But she doesn't owe you a reaction to it."

Silence.

"I was proud of you before anybody noticed."

This time he didn't answer immediately.

Finally he looked at Brittany.

"I think I kept pretending you were impressed because I liked that version better."

Brittany nodded.

"I figured."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

This time he didn't answer immediately.

A few seconds passed.

Then Brittany reopened her laptop.

"Please remain clothed during quarterly sales meetings."

Greg almost smiled.

"Deal."

Greg almost smiled.

I picked up the print-shop mockup.

He noticed.

"So you really ordered that thing?"

"The little one, yes."

"What about Gigantic Greg?"

"Approval pending."

"So you really ordered that thing?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I haven't approved it."

He exhaled.

"So you weren't actually going to send a six-foot shirtless version of me to my gym?"

"Meaning I haven't approved it."

"Depends. Were you planning to keep visiting our sales meetings half naked?"

"Reese..."

I smiled.

Then I pulled out my phone and deleted the pending order in front of him.

Greg watched the screen.

"Thank you."

Greg watched the screen.

Greg looked at Mini Greg.

"Could've fooled me."

He picked up the miniature again.

He studied his own cardboard face.

Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

"Wow."

"Could've fooled me."

"What?"

"I really posted this picture?"

"Voluntarily."

"Publicly?"

"With three fire emojis."

Brittany raised a finger.

"Four."

"I really posted this picture?"

Greg groaned.

Then he looked at her.

"I really am sorry."

"I know."

No dramatic hug.

No instant family therapy session.

"I really am sorry."

Brittany simply turned her laptop toward me.

"Can we please figure out why our inventory system thinks we sold twelve imaginary products?"

Greg started toward the stairs.

Still wearing his shirt.

Brittany simply turned her laptop toward me.

Halfway there, he turned back.

"Can I keep this?"

He held up Mini Greg.

"Why?"

Greg looked at the speech bubble.

Then at us.

"Because that's objectively hilarious."

"Can I keep this?"

Brittany snorted.

I handed him the box.

"He's all yours."

Greg tucked his cardboard twin under one arm and went upstairs.

For once, nobody had to watch him leave.

"He's all yours."

***

The following Tuesday, Brittany texted me before coming over.

"Is Greg home?"

I stared at the message.

Before I could answer, another appeared.

"Actually, never mind. I'm coming over."

"Is Greg home?"

Twenty minutes later, we were back at the kitchen table trying to understand why our shipping costs had jumped.

Brittany didn't ask about Greg again.

Then we heard footsteps.

She glanced toward the doorway.

So did I.

Brittany didn't ask about Greg again.

Greg walked in carrying his gym bag.

He was sweaty.

And wearing a T-shirt.

"Hey."

Brittany looked at the shirt.

"Nice outfit."

He was sweaty.

"Thanks. It's from my new collection."

I laughed.

Greg opened the refrigerator.

No flexing.

No unnecessary stretching.

No sudden need to discuss his body.

"Thanks. It's from my new collection."

He took out a bottle of water.

Then he looked at Brittany.

"Seriously, are we okay?"

She considered it.

"We will be."

"Fair."

"Seriously, are we okay?"

"I meant what I said last time."

"So did I."

Brittany nodded.

That was enough.

Greg started to leave, then stopped.

"Oh. Reese?"

"Yeah?"

"I meant what I said last time."

"Your business partner is terrifying."

Brittany didn't look up.

"Quarterly sales meeting. Stay dressed."

"Yes, ma'am."

He disappeared upstairs.

Brittany waited until his footsteps faded.

"Okay."

"Quarterly sales meeting. Stay dressed."

"What?"

"That was better."

"Much."

She returned to the spreadsheet.

No celebration required.

About an hour later, Greg came downstairs again.

Still dressed.

She returned to the spreadsheet.

This time he was carrying Mini Greg.

"You kept him?" I asked.

"Of course."

He set the cardboard figure on the kitchen counter.

Brittany stared at it.

"Why is he here?"

"You kept him?"

"So I don't forget the lesson."

"That's disturbing."

"He's very committed to personal growth."

I pointed at the speech bubble.

"He's also still demanding admiration."

"That's disturbing."

Greg studied it.

Then he turned Mini Greg around so the cardboard figure faced the wall.

Brittany laughed.

"Leave him like that."

Greg looked at the cardboard figure facing the wall.

"For how long?"

"Leave him like that."

"Let's review his behavior next quarter."

"Fair."

He left Mini Greg on the counter and went upstairs.

The next morning, I found the little standee in the same spot, except someone had made one improvement.

A strip of paper had been taped across his chest like a tiny T-shirt.

He left Mini Greg on the counter.

In Greg's handwriting, it said:

UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT.

I was still laughing when he came into the kitchen dressed for the gym.

He followed my eyes to his cardboard twin.

"Too much?"

"Maybe a little."

He came into the kitchen dressed for the gym.

Greg reached for his water bottle.

Then he reconsidered, peeled off the paper shirt, turned Mini Greg back toward the wall, and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Gym."

"Where are you going?"

I pointed at the standee.

"You forgetting something?"

Greg glanced down at his own T-shirt.

"Nope."

And left.

"You forgetting something?"