A newlywed couple had just moved into their first home.

The husband is slouched on the couch, glued to a football game.
During a commercial break, his wife says,
“Honey, can you change the lightbulb in the hallway after the game?”

He smirks and replies,
“Do I look like a damn electrician?”

A few days later, she says,
“The fridge door’s busted. Can you fix it?”

He shrugs,
“Do I look like a damn appliance repairman?”

She tries one more time:
“At least fix the broken step by the front door? Someone’s going to break their neck!”

He scoffs,
“I’m not a damn carpenter either! What do I look like, Home Depot? I’m going to the pub!”

A few hours (and beers) later, guilt kicks in. He stumbles home expecting the house to be in pieces—but surprise!
The hallway light is on.
The fridge door works.
The step is fixed.

Shocked, he asks,
“How did all this get done?”

His wife says,
“Well, after you stormed out, I sat outside and cried. A nice young man walked by and asked what was wrong. When I told him, he said he’d fix everything if I either baked him a fancy cake… or slept with him.”

The husband stares at her.
“So… you baked him a cake?”

She looks him dead in the eyes:
“Do I look like a damn pastry chef?”

Boom. Roasted.