“Thank you, son, for this celebration!” my mother-in-law said into the microphone, completely ignoring me! My toast in response left the entire room in stunned silence.
You know how it goes. My mother-in-laws 60th birthday was approachinga big milestone that demanded a grand celebration. And whos the familys chief organizer, the driving force, the so-called “eternal engine”? Thats rightme.
Nina Pavlovna, my mother-in-law, approached me with the most innocent look:
“Sweetie, youre so wonderful, so resourceful!” And then came the usual: “Help me with the party, wont you? Im too old to figure this out myself.”
Oh, “help”? Ladies, her idea of “help” meant I ended up doing absolutely everything. For two weeks straight, my life revolved around this party.
I found the venue, reworked the menu three times because “Aunt Galya doesnt eat fish, and Uncle Kolya is allergic to nuts.” I booked the host, arranged the photographer, brainstormed the decorations, and spent half the night blowing up those ridiculous balloons.
The cherry on top? The entire event was paid for with our money because she couldnt afford it herself.
My husband played the part of being busyriding along with me, sitting at the planning tablebut in reality, he just scrolled through his phone. To every idea, hed nod without looking up:
“Yes, honey, brilliant idea!”
Meanwhile, Nina Pavlovna called daily with her “valuable” input, never once asking if I needed help. Honestly, I lost three kilos from the stress.
Then came the big day. The restaurant sparkled, the guests looked impeccable, and the birthday queen herself dazzled in a new dress. Meanwhile, I barely had time to fix my hair.
I ran around like madsorting issues with the staff, tracking down lost kids, calming down drunk Uncle Kolya. Basically, I was the unpaid event manager.
Finally, mid-party, I sat down, hoping to at least taste the salad. Thats when the host announced:
“And now, a word from our beloved birthday girl!”
Nina Pavlovna, regal as ever, took the mic. Foolishly, I thought, *Finally, shell thank me for all my sleepless nights.*
Instead, she swept her gaze over the room and declared:
“My dearest! Im so happy to see you all here! And I must say a huge, *huge* thank you to my beloved, my golden son! Andriy, without you, this celebration wouldnt have happened! Thank you, my dear!”
Ladies, my fork clattered to the plate. The room erupted in applause. My husband, flushed with pride, stood up and blew her a kiss. Not a word about me. As if I didnt exist. As if it all magically came together.
At that moment, something inside me diedand something else was born. The hurt was so sharp I forgot to breathe. Then came the icy, razor-edged rage. And a plan. Bold and public.
When the applause faded, I stood and marched toward the host.
“Excuse me,” I said sweetly. “Id like to say a few words, too. Just a minute.”
Unsuspecting, he handed me the mic.
I stepped to the center, cleared my throat, and spoke loud enough for the whole room:
“Dear guests! Nina Pavlovna! I wholeheartedly echo your kind words! Andriy truly is golda wonderful husband and son! The star of tonight! So, Id like to give him and his amazing mother a small gift.”
I reached into my purse and pulled out the folderthe one with the restaurant bill Id just collected from the manager.
Dead silence. I walked to the head table and, locking eyes with my stunned husband and mother-in-law, placed it in front of them.
“Since *you* organized this party,” I said, crisp and clear, “its only fair that *you* cover the bill. After all, true heroes take responsibility to the end, right?”
Their faces were priceless. My husband went pale, gripping the tablecloth. Nina Pavlovna gaped like a fish out of water.
The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Fifty guests stared between me, the bill, and the suddenly flustered “hosts of honor.”
I calmly set down the mic, grabbed my purse, and walked outhead high. Rumor has it, the party wrapped up pretty quickly after that.
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