Hey love, let me tell you my latest family drama its a proper classic, actually.
Im just a regular daughterinlaw, working fulltime, no tiara or anything. Me and Tom live in our own little flat in Manchester, and were the ones paying the mortgage, council tax and the endless utility bills while juggling jobs from dawn till well past midnight.
Toms mum, Margaret, lives out in a tiny village in Yorkshire, and her sister, Eve, is there too. Everything would be fine if they hadnt decided that our flat was their weekend resort. At first it sounded cute:
Well pop over on Saturday, Margaret said.
Just for a bit, I replied.
Were family, after all, they chirped.
Yeah, just a bit really meant an overnight stay; pop over came with suitcases, empty pots and eyes that were already looking for a feast.
Every weekend it turned into the same routine: I rush from work to the shops, then I cook, clean, set the table, smile through it all, and end up washing dishes and tidying up until halfpast midnight. Meanwhile Margaret sits there and pipes up:
Whys there no corn in the salad?
I like my stew richer, you know.
We dont do it like that back in the village.
Eve adds:
Oh, Im exhausted from the road.
No dessert at all?
And not once do they say Thank you or Can we help with anything?
One night I finally snapped and told Tom:
Im not a housemaid, and Im fed up with catering to your family every weekend.
Maybe we should actually do something about it, he said.
Thats when an idea struck.
The next time Margaret rang, she said:
Were coming over on Saturday.
Oh, weve got plans, I said calmly.
What plans?
Just our own, dear.
And you know what? We really did go, but not to our plans we went straight to Margarets house. Saturday morning, Tom and I were standing in her front garden. Margaret opened the door and just froze.
Whats this then?!
Were just stopping by, shortstay style.
You shouldve warned me I havent cooked anything! Do you know how pricey it is to host?
I looked at her and said, deadpan:
See? This is what Im up to every weekend.
So youve decided to teach me a lesson? How cheeky!
Our shouting was so loud the neighbours peeked over the fence, and we hightailed it back home.
And the best part? From that day on, theres been zero uninvited visits. No more well pop round and no more weekends spent in my kitchen. Sometimes youve just got to show people how it feels to be in your shoes to make them listen.
What do you think was I right to draw the line? How would you handle a situation like that?
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