“Thanks, son, for this celebration!” my mother-in-law announced into the microphone, completely ignoring me! My toast in response left the entire room speechless.
You know how it goes. My mother-in-laws 60th birthday was approachinga milestone deserving grand festivities. And who in our family is the chief organizer, the driving force, the so-called “eternal engine”? Thats right, me.
Nina Pavlovna approached me with the most innocent look:
“Sweetheart, youre so capable, so energetic!” Then came the usual: “Help me with the party, wont you? Im old, I dont understand these things.”
“Help,” she said. Girls, her version of “help” meant I did everything. For two weeks, this party consumed my life.
I booked the venue, revised the menu three times because “Aunt Galya doesnt eat fish, and Uncle Kolya is allergic to nuts.” I hired the host, arranged the photographer, designed the decorations, and spent half the night blowing up those ridiculous balloons.
The cherry on top? We footed the bill because she couldnt afford it.
My husband pretended to be involvedriding along, sitting at the tablebut he was just glued to his phone. To every suggestion, hed nod without looking up:
“Great idea, honey!”
Meanwhile, Nina Pavlovna called daily with “valuable” instructions, 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 lovely, the birthday queen wore a new dress. As for me? I barely had time to fix my hair.
I dashed around like a madwomansorting issues with waitstaff, searching for lost kids, calming drunk Uncle Kolya. In short, I wasnt a guest but the unpaid event manager.
Mid-celebration, I finally sat down, hoping to taste the salad. Then the host announced:
“And now, a word from our dear birthday girl!”
Nina Pavlovna took the mic, full of grandeur. Foolishly, I thought, *Shell thank me nowfor all those sleepless nights.*
Instead, she swept the room with a regal gaze and declared:
“My dearest! Im so happy to see you all! And I want to thank my beloved, my golden son! Andriy, without you, this wouldnt have happened! Thank you, my dear!”
Girls, my fork clattered to the plate. The room erupted in applause. My husband, flushed with pride, blew her a kiss. Me? Not a single word. As if Id never existed.
At that moment, something inside me died. And something else was borna cold, razor-sharp fury. And a plan.
I waited for the applause to fade, then approached the host.
“Excuse me,” I smiled sweetly. “Id like to say a few words.”
Unsuspecting, he handed me the mic.
I stepped forward, cleared my throat, and spoke loud enough for all to hear:
“Dear guests! Nina Pavlovna! I wholeheartedly echo your kind words! Andriy truly is a gemthe hero of this evening! So, Id like to give him and his wonderful mother a small gift.”
From my purse, I pulled a folderthe restaurants invoice, freshly collected from the manager.
Dead silence fell. I walked to the head table, locked eyes with my stunned husband and mother-in-law, and placed the bill before them.
“Since this party was *your* achievement,” I said crisply, no room for ambiguity, “its only fair you cover the costs. Real heroes take responsibility, right?”
Their facespriceless. My husband turned pale, gripping the tablecloth. Nina Pavlovna gaped like a fish out of water.
The tension was so thick you could hear a pin drop. Fifty guests stared between me, the bill, and the “honored hosts.”
I set the mic down, grabbed my purse, and walked out, head high. Rumor has it the party ended shortly after.
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