My husbands parents ditched my mum at the restaurant to avoid paying the billbut she had a brilliant revenge plan.
My in-laws had always treated settling the bill as beneath them, as if it might tarnish their oh-so-precious “reputation.” Every family meal became the same farcical routine: slapping their pockets theatrically, feigning shock, swearing theyd left their wallets at home.
At first, I gave them the benefit of the doubtperhaps it was just forgetfulness. But eventually, the truth was undeniable: it was pure, unadulterated stinginess. They simply assumed the “less fortunate” would foot the bill.
But my mum? She doesnt fall for that nonsense.
She doesnt parade around in designer handbags or dripping in diamonds, but shes sharp, self-respecting, andmost importantlydoesnt let entitled snobs walk all over her.
Still, despite their wealth, their one unshakeable habit drove me up the wall: they *never* paid their share.
Theyve done it *again*, I fumed to my husband, Dan, after his parents had slipped out mid-meal (while he was in the loo, conveniently), leaving us with a £250 tab. Your dad actually pretended to take a phone call!
Dan sighed and pulled out his card. I know, I know. Theyve always been like this.
Theyve got more money than sense! Your mums handbag costs more than our rent!
Ive tried talking to them. But to them, this is just loose changethey dont see the problem.
It became a predictable dance: the lavish orders, the vintage wines, and, like clockwork the excuses.
Oh, I *swear* I had my purse! his mother would gasp, patting her designer tote.
Emergency calljust one moment! his dad would mutter, bolting for the exit.
Even Dans brother, Oliver, and his wife, Gemma, had mastered the art of the Great Bill Dodge.
No one called them outnot friends, not colleagues, who just whispered about it later.
Then came the invitation.
Mum wants to celebrate her 60th at that posh Italian place in town, Dan mentioned one evening. She brought it up yesterday. Wants the whole family there.
When? I asked, already feeling my wallet shrink in protest.
Next Friday. Good newswell be away for our anniversary weekend. But since we cant go, they want to invite your mum.
I froze. My mum? *Why?*
Said she wants to get to know her better.
I *knew* it was a trap.
My mother-in-law had never shown the slightest interest in my mum. Quite the oppositeshed often implied they had *nothing* in common.
It was painfully obvious.
But I couldnt stop itour trip to Spain had been booked for months.
I need to warn Mum, I said, grabbing my phone.
She answered on the third ring. Hello, love! How are you?
Mum, Dans parents want to invite you to his mums birthday dinner
Oh, yes! She texted me earlier. Im looking forward to it!
My stomach dropped. Mum, theres something you need to know about them
I spilled everythingtheir vanishing acts, the unpaid bills, the whole sham. I was fuming by the end.
But Mum just laughed. Oh, darling, dont you worry.
Mum, Im *serious*. Theyll order the most expensive things on the menu and vanish.
Relax, she said calmly. Your trip is important. A birthdays a special occasion. Ill go.
But
Ive got this.
I hung up and turned to Dan. She didnt believe me. Shes walking straight into it.
Maybe they wont this time, he said unconvincingly. It *is* her birthday.
We exchanged a look. We both knew better.
On the night of the dinner, Dan and I were already tucked into our cosy countryside hotel, three hours away.
All evening, I kept glancing at my phone, expecting a frantic call from Mum. But nothing.
The next morning, a single text arrived: *Lovely evening. Call when youre back.*
I barely waited until Sunday to get the full story.
Well? I blurted before even saying hello. What happened?
It was *interesting*, Mum began.
She recounted the usual script: my in-laws swanned in like royalty, secured the best table (garden view, live pianist), and ordered lavishlytruffle starters, vintage wines, Wagyu steak with *actual* gold flakes.
And you?
Me? Just pasta and water. Wasnt very hungry.
Smart. Minimal damage.
Then?
When the bill came, the show began. Your mother-in-law realised shed left her purse at home. Your father-in-law swore his wallet was in the car. Oliver got a nanny emergency. One by one, they all disappeared. Left me alone with a £1,200 bill.
Mum! You didnt *pay*, did you?!
Of course not, she said smoothly. I ordered dessert.
*WHAT?!*
Chocolate soufflé. And the most expensive port on the menu. The waiter looked confused, but I just smiled and said, We *are* celebrating.
I was speechless.
If you didnt payand they lefthow did it end?
I asked for the manager. Robbie. You remember him.
Robbie? From the school where you taught?
The very same! The boy who brought me apples every morning. Now owns three restaurants.
Mum had been a teacher for 30 years. Turns out, some of her former pupils had done *very* well.
We had a chat. Explained the situation. He just laughed.
I could see where this was going.
Robbie had an idea. He called your in-laws*very* politelyto let them know theyd forgotten to pay. Asked them to return. Otherwise, hed have to involve the police.
He *actually* said that?!
Oh yes. On *speakerphone*. Your father-in-law started blathering about an ATM. Robbie just said, Lovely. Well wait.
Did they come back?
Like scalded cats! Mum cackled.
Your mother-in-law was white as a sheet. But what could they say? Theyd been caught red-handed.
And the bill?
Robbie added a 25% inconvenience fee. Total? Just over £1,500.
I was stunnedthen burst out laughing. Mum, you *legend*!
Best part? This morning, your mother-in-law called me and said, Just so you knowwe *always* pay our share at family dinners. *Always.*
The *nerve*!
Some people only learn the hard way. And Id say that was a rather *expensive* lesson.
Indeed.
Over the next few months, a miracle occurred. At every family meal, my mother-in-law would loudly announce:
Separate bills, please!
Waiters would blink in confusion. Dan and I would exchange knowing smirks.
And Mum? Shed just sip her wine, smiling.
