The morning began with the slow, creeping sensation of the duvet slipping off me. My eyes were still closed, yet I already knew I lay utterly exposed. A shiver ran down my spine just as a familiar giggle echoed through the room. I cracked one eye open to see my mother-in-law, Margaret Whitmore, tiptoeing out of our bedroom, stifling laughter. “Mum, what are you doing?!” I called out, but she vanished behind the door, leaving only the ghost of her amusement behind. My husband, Edward, mumbled something incoherent in his sleep and tugged the covers back over himself, entirely oblivious. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering how to react to yet another one of Margaret’s “playful” antics.
Edward and I have been married only a year, and we’re still living with his parents. It’s temporary—just until we save enough for our own flat—but honestly, I’m starting to doubt I can endure this arrangement much longer. Margaret is kind, spirited, and, as she puts it, “a bit of a joker.” But her sense of humour often leaves me flustered. This morning’s blanket prank was just one in a string of incidents that make me blush and squirm.
It began even before the wedding. When Edward first brought me to meet his parents, Margaret hugged me tight, called me “love,” and declared me part of the family. I was touched by her warmth, but soon realised she had little regard for personal boundaries. She’d stroll into our room without knocking to “have a quick chat,” or rearrange my belongings because “it looks tidier this way.” Once, I caught her rummaging through my wardrobe, critiquing which dresses suited me and which didn’t. I tried to brush it off—she’s older, set in her ways, and it’s her home, after all. But the duvet incident was the final straw.
I climbed out of bed, wrapped myself in my dressing gown, and marched to the kitchen, where Margaret was already bustling over breakfast. She hummed a cheery tune, looking terribly pleased with herself. “Morning, love!” she chirped. “Finally awake, are we? You and Edward were dead to the world!” Another giggle, and I knew she was referring to her little “joke.” I forced a smile. “Good morning, Margaret. Though, honestly, I’d prefer to wake up without surprises.” She waved a hand. “Oh, don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud! A bit of fun never hurt anyone!”
I sat at the table, steadying myself. Deep down, I knew Margaret meant no harm. To her, these antics were just her way of showing affection. But it unsettled me. I grew up in a household where privacy was sacred. My mum, Eleanor, always knocked before entering my room and taught me to respect others’ space. Here, it felt like my bedroom was a public thoroughfare. The worst part? Edward didn’t seem to mind. When I told him what happened, he just laughed. “Mum’s only having a bit of fun. Don’t take it to heart.” But I wasn’t amused. I wanted our home—even if temporary—to feel like a sanctuary.
I decided to talk to Margaret properly. After breakfast, once Edward had left for work, I asked her to join me for tea. She agreed eagerly, and we settled in the lounge. I started cautiously, thanking her for her kindness. Then, mustering courage, I said, “Margaret, I really appreciate how welcoming you’ve been. But I feel a bit awkward when you come into our room unannounced or… play pranks like this morning. It catches me off guard.” I spoke gently, trembling inside, afraid of upsetting her.
To my surprise, she didn’t take offence. She studied me with mild astonishment, then sighed. “Oh, love, I had no idea it bothered you. In our family, we’ve always been… hands-on. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll try to mind myself.” She smiled, and relief washed over me. Maybe she truly hadn’t meant any harm. We chatted a while longer, and I even shared stories about my family, hoping she’d understand why this mattered to me.
Now, I dare hope these situations will happen less. I know Margaret won’t change overnight—she’s too set in her ways. But I believe we can find a middle ground. And I’ll talk to Edward, too—he ought to have my back. After all, we’re a family, and everyone deserves to feel at ease. One day, we’ll have our own place, and these “morning surprises” will be a distant memory. Until then, I’m learning patience—and to find humour in the awkwardness. Though, I admit, laughing about a stolen duvet is still a stretch.
