I am a daughterinlaw: ordinary, employed, no crown on my head. My husband and I live in a rented flat in Manchester that were still paying offmortgage, council tax, utility bills, work from dawn till dusk.
My motherinlaw lives out in a hamlet in the Cotswolds, as does my sisterinlaw, Lily. Everything would be fine if they hadnt decided that our flat was to become their weekend resort. At first it sounded sweet:
Well pop round on Saturday, they said.
Just for a little while, we answered.
Were family, after all.
Ah, a little while meant an overnight stay; pop round meant arriving with bags, empty pots, and eyes that expected a banquet.
Every weekend repeats the same ritual: after work I dash to the shops, cook, wash, set the table, smile, then halfpast midnight Im still scrubbing dishes and tidying up. Eleanor Whitby, my motherinlaw, watches and comments:
Why is there no corn in the salad?
I prefer my stew heartier.
We dont do that back in the village.
Lily adds:
Oh, Im exhausted from the road.
No dessert, then?
And not once do they say Thank you or Can I help?
One night I could no longer hold it in and said to my husband:
Im not a housemaid, and I dont want to serve your family every weekend.
Maybe we should actually do something about it, he replied.
An idea sprang up like a sudden gust.
The next time Eleanor called, she announced, Were coming Saturday.
I answered calmly, Oh, we have plans for the weekend.
What plans?
Our own.
And guess what? We really did go not to our flat, but to Eleanors cottage. Saturday morning we stood on her doorstep. Eleanor opened the door and froze.
What on earth is this? she shouted.
Were here as guests. Just for a little while.
You should have warned meI havent cooked anything! Do you know how much it costs to host?
I looked at her, steady, and said, See? This is how I live every weekend.
So youve decided to teach me a lesson? How bold!
My voice rose so high the neighbours peered out, and we fled back home.
Since then, no uninvited visits have crossed our threshold. No more Well pop round and no more weekends spent in my kitchen. Sometimes, to be heard, you simply have to show people what it feels like to stand in your shoes.
Do you think I acted rightly? What would you have done in my place?
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