Emily and James were getting married. The ceremony was in full swing when the master of ceremonies announced the gift-giving moment. The brides parents were first to congratulate them. Then came the grooms mother, Margaret Wilkins, clutching a large box tied with a powder-blue ribbon.
Goodness! I wonder whats inside? Emily whispered excitedly to James.
No idea. Mums kept it a secret the whole time, replied the groom, baffled.
They decided to open the gifts the next day, once the wedding chaos had settled. Emily suggested starting with her mother-in-laws box. After untying the ribbon and lifting the lid, they peeked inside and were utterly speechless.
Emily had noticed something odd about James early on: he never took anything without asking, not even a trifle.
Can I have the last biscuit? hed ask sheepishly, eyeing the lone custard cream in the tin.
Of course! shed reply, puzzled. You dont need to ask.
Force of habit, hed smile, unwrapping it hastily.
It took months before Emily understood where this hesitation came from.
One day, James introduced her to his parents, Margaret and Edward. At first, his mother seemed welcoming. But that illusion vanished when Margaret invited them to dinner.
She served two plates with two spoonfuls of mash and a single sausage. James finished quickly and, lowering his voice, politely asked for seconds.
You eat like a horse! Well never afford to feed you! Margaret exclaimed, leaving Emily stunned.
When Edward asked for more, his wife eagerly piled his plate high. Emily finished her meagre portion, bewildered by Margarets blatant favouritism.
Later, during wedding planning, Margaret critiqued everything: the rings, the venue, the menu.
Why spend so much? You couldve found something cheaper! shed huff disapprovingly.
Emily finally snapped.
Let us handle it! Its our money and our choice!
Offended, Margaret stopped calling and even threatened to boycott the wedding.
Two days before the big day, Edward paid them a visit.
Come help with the gift, he said, leading James to his car.
Hed bought them a washing machinewithout consulting Margaret, who still thought it extravagant. She then vanished into the reception.
The next morning, their excitement turned to dismay as they opened her box.
Tea towels? Emily muttered in disbelief.
And socks, James added, holding up two pairs of terry-cloth ones. Mum just grabbed the first thing to hand.
Days later, Margaret rang to grill her son about the other guests gifts.
What did your in-laws give you? Your friends? she pressed.
None of your business, James replied before hanging up, relieved.
The lesson? Generosity isnt measured by a gifts price tag, but by the respect behind it. And Margaret had forgotten that long ago.
