The intrusive mother-in-law used to waltz into our home like she owned the placeuntil I gave her a taste of her own medicine.
Sometimes, life makes the enemy in your house not a stranger, but a mother-in-law with a sweet smile and a Tupperware full of questionable meatballs. My name is Emily, married for two years, and as they say, everything was fine between my husband and me until his mum started “warming our home” a little too often. She showed up with such insistence that even the postman visited less than she did.
I was sorting groceries in the kitchen cupboard when suddenlythe doorbell rang. I opened it. Of course, who else? Margaret, my mother-in-law.
“Emily, hello! Ive made meatballs! Fresh cod ones!” she chirped, proudly holding out her plastic container.
I sighed. My husband and I have hated fish since childhood. Me, I was force-fed it growing up, and him, the son of a fisherman, ate so much he practically grew gills. Weve mentioned this. Repeatedly. But Margaret acted like shed never heard it.
“Margaret, we dont eat fish You know that.”
“But you cant just waste it! Keep it, someone else might enjoy it!” she insisted.
But it wasnt just the blasted meatballs. She came over more and more. Unannounced. Without knocking. Shed walk in like it was her own house and start her “inspections”:
“Oh, whats this cheese? Never tried itIll have a slice. And some salami too, youll need to buy more. Oh, by the way, I brought some fishsharing is caring, after all!”
With every visit, her appetite grew. One day, she turned up with a friend. No call. No warning.
“We were at the chemists and fancied warming up a bit. Fancy making us a cuppa?”
Before I could react, she was already rummaging through the fridge, pulling out jam, cheese, biscuits, while her friend made herself comfortable at the table.
I felt like a stranger in my own home. My husband just shrugged”Shes my mum, she means well.” Means well? Id caught her stuffing our pineapple under her coat. This wasnt help or affectionit was shameless invasion.
So, I hatched a plan. Subtle, but precise. The next day, my friend Natalie and I bought the spiciest curry in town, and without warning, we turned up at Margarets.
“Hello! We were in the neighbourhood and thought wed drop by! Brought you some currygo on, try it!” I beamed, shoving the takeaway box into her hands.
Margaret paled. She despises curry. Once, she tasted it and ever since called it “boiled socks in sauce.”
“Make yourselves at homelets see what youve got to nibble on,” I said, heading straight for her fridge.
Out came a shepherds pie, a potato salad, a Victoria spongeall onto the table. Natalie was already giggling.
“Oh, Margaret, you dont mind, do you? I brought you curryfairs fair, right?” I added with fake innocence.
Margaret stood frozen. Speechless. She got it. Finally understood how it felt to have someone barge into your home uninvited.
I left, thanking her for her “lovely hospitality,” promising wed pop round again soon.
Since then, everythings changed. She calls before visiting now, her drop-ins are rare and discreet. She even brings things we actually like. No more fish.
Sometimes, theres no need for an argument. Just hold up a mirror.
