How I Once Made a Fool of My Mother-in-LawA Memory She Likely Still Remembers
This tale harks back to the early days of my married life, just after my husband, Charles, and I had wed. There was something unusual I noticed, though at the time, it did not seem so important. It wasnt about Charleshe has always been an ideal to mebut rather about his mother, my new mother-in-law, Mrs. Beatrice Hammond.
It all began at our wedding: she wore a frown so severe and seemed so agitated it was as if shed come to a wake, not a joyous celebration of marriage. After the festivities, her behaviour remained peculiar, and since we were newlyweds without a place of our own, we had no choice but to stay at her house in London.
The moment we crossed her threshold, she greeted me with such pitiful sincerity that I truly believed she was pleased for us and her poor humour at the reception stemmed from ill-health, perhaps. Yet behind that halfhearted smile lay a subtle hostility wrapped in teasing. Quietly, almost in secret, she found ways to criticise me, though always couched in the politest terms.
For instance, many nights Id wake to find her washing the crockery Id so carefully cleaned the evening before. I asked her once what she was doing, and she replied sweetly that she was taking care of the dirty dishes. It made me wonderdid she think my washing wasnt up to scratch? Ever since then, I doubted her kindness.
For a long time, I mistook her gentle reproaches for friendly advice and confided my most personal concerns, including the inevitable little spats with Charles.
As luck would have it, a dear friend of mine, Peter, worked as a driver at Beatrices office, and through the ladies there, he began hearing the most scandalous gossip about our family: how my poor Charles was a pitiful sort, and I, the villain, supposedly deceived him and only coveted his mothers flat. What family dramas!
From that moment, I realised Beatrice was not on my sideshe was, in fact, my secret adversary.
She was possessed of an extraordinary passion for cleanliness; her home was as pristine as a hospital ward, and she demanded the same diligence from both me and Charles. We did our utmost, but could never seem to please her entirely.
And then she announced a two-week business trip. Before leaving, she ordered us to keep everything spotless. Even the smallest bit of fluff on the carpet or a stray hair in the bath could send her into fits worthy of a heart attack over an unwashed teacup. So whenever she was around, Charles and I tiptoed about, desperate to maintain order.
During her absence, we planned to relax our vigilance, tidying only right before her return. But Beatrice, knowing our habits, gave us a false date and plotted to arrive unexpectedly, bringing her friends so she could shame me before her social circle.
Fortunately, my aforementioned friend Peter caught wind of her scheme and tipped me off. Furious and determined, I set to work and polished every nook until the place sparkled. Then I simply waited.
Beatrice arrived with half her neighbourhood in tow, Peter the driver stifling a grin at the wheel. She crept in, unlocked the door with a conspiratorial air, and ushered the whole crowd in behind her like a travelling troupe.
Imagine her shockthe flat was immaculate, gleaming beyond even her own draconian standards. Her friends stared in amazement and whispered behind her back, while I emerged looking so composed (just having stashed away the Hoover and wiped my brow) and remarked:
Well, Beatrice, wherever did you get a rug as clean as this?
Her face fell; she scowled fiercely and examined every corner. I clenched my fists in quiet triumphshe wouldnt find a single fault, and I knew it.
Thus, my mother-in-law became the talk of the officeand not in a flattering way. Her gossiping was met with deaf ears for months, and plenty turned to support me during our quarrel. I had struck a heavy blow to her pride and, although seventeen years have passed, I daresay Beatrice Hammond still remembers the day she lost the contest of cleanliness.
