**A Shameful Bag: How My Mother-in-Law Wore Out My Patience**
Evelyn was sorting through her wardrobe when an unexpected knock came at the door. Standing on the doorstep, beaming, was her mother-in-law—Margaret Whitmore.
“Hello, dear! Thought I’d pop round for tea,” she chirped.
“Do come in,” Evelyn replied politely, though inwardly bracing herself. “Just let me put these away, and we’ll have a cuppa.”
They settled in the sitting room. Evelyn carefully folded her clothes while Margaret perched in an armchair, watching with undisguised curiosity.
Unable to resist, Margaret peered into a shopping bag by the chair. Her eyes widened in shock.
“Evelyn! What on earth is this disgrace?”
“More frocks, I see!” she tutted, shaking her head at the bags strewn across the sofa.
“These are old purchases,” Evelyn sighed, rolling her eyes. “I’m just tidying up.”
“Does my son know how you waste his money?” Margaret asked with a smirk.
“I earn my own, thank you,” Evelyn retorted sharply, hurrying to finish before the conversation worsened.
But Margaret wasn’t done. She plucked a dress from the bag, inspecting it closely.
“Only a woman of loose morals would wear this,” she sneered.
“It’s still got the tag. Clearly, I haven’t worn it anywhere,” Evelyn snapped, reaching for it.
“Thank heavens!” Margaret huffed, handing it back. “At your age, oughtn’t you dress more respectably?”
“I’m twenty-nine, not fifty-nine,” Evelyn reminded her coolly.
“At your stage, a lady should wear longer, proper dresses, not flaunt herself,” Margaret sniffed. “No wonder I’ve no grandchildren yet!”
“What has my wardrobe to do with children?” Evelyn asked through gritted teeth.
“Simple. If you dress like this, you must be looking for a younger man,” Margaret declared smugly.
Evelyn went pale with fury.
“So, married women should dress like nuns, is that it?”
“A wife ought to be modest!” Margaret lectured. “And as for your underthings—shameful!”
“You went through my clothes?!” Evelyn exploded.
“Don’t be ridiculous! I saw them in the wash,” Margaret scoffed. “Honestly, no decent woman wears such scraps!”
“Are you serious?” Evelyn clenched her fists. “Shall I buy office-appropriate lingerie, then?”
“A proper lady wouldn’t wear such things at all, let alone when married!” Margaret thumped the armrest for emphasis.
“I’m young, and I’ll dress as I please,” Evelyn hissed.
“You dress like that to lure other men!” Margaret gasped theatrically.
“Think whatever you like,” Evelyn said wearily. “But I’ll wear what I want.”
“Useless arguing with you!” Margaret stormed out, slamming the door.
When her husband, Thomas, returned from work, Evelyn unloaded the whole ordeal.
“Mum mentioned you dress rather boldly,” he said with a strained smile. “Ignore her. And… maybe skip the fishnets around her—it winds her up.”
“She hates everything I do!” Evelyn fumed.
“She’ll grumble and forget it,” Thomas dismissed lightly.
But he was wrong.
A month later, it happened again. This time, Margaret arrived with fresh outrage.
“You’ve posted pictures online! My friends saw—they’re horrified!”
“They’re just jealous,” Evelyn replied calmly.
Margaret snorted and flounced out. Evelyn sighed, hoping that was the end of it.
She was mistaken.
Half a year later, when she and Thomas went on holiday, leaving spare keys with Margaret “just in case,” they never imagined what awaited their return.
Evelyn’s heart sank—most of her wardrobe was gone.
“It was her!” Evelyn gasped, rushing through the rooms. “Only your mother had keys!”
“Surely not,” Thomas faltered, calling her.
But Margaret sobbed down the line, “How could you accuse me, darling? Never!”
Evelyn shook her head. “I’m calling the police.”
Only then did Margaret, fearing real consequences, confess.
“Yes, it was me! I took that shameful rubbish and binned it! I did it for your sake—so you’d finally think of family!”
Thomas was livid.
“Mum, have you lost your mind?” he roared. “Now I’ve to replace my wife’s entire wardrobe!”
“Well—” Margaret began.
“Hand back the keys. And don’t darken our door again!” Thomas cut in.
For her birthday, Margaret received three solitary roses—no lavish gift.
That same day, Evelyn went shopping—with Thomas’s insistence. “Buy whatever you fancy, love. You’ve earned it.”
