This event took place many summers ago, on a Friday, when my husband was at work and my daughter and I set off to the market for our weekly shopping.
After we’d gathered our provisions, we made our way home.
Once inside, we got on with the housework: my daughter busied herself with the cleaning while I began preparing the evening meal.
Suddenly, the screech of car brakes outside caught our attention. Our distant relatives had arrived unexpectedly my cousin Sarah, her husband Peter, and their fifteen-year-old daughter Emily.
I welcomed them in and hurried to set the table. I asked what had brought them by, and it turned out that yesterday had been Sarahs birthday, so they had decided on a whim to pay us a visit.
Of course, I was not at all prepared for guests. As they settled and enjoyed their tea, I rang my husband and explained the situation. He suggested we make some skewers; thankfully, there was a leg of pork in the fridge, just right for grilling.
I went to them and explained my lack of readiness for such company, offering the plan of preparing the skewers then and there, so that the meat would be ready by the time my husband returned from work.
Our relatives nodded in agreement, settled into the sitting room, sprawled on the sofa, switched the television on and began watching with great focus.
I couldnt help but be a little bewildered by their behaviour. I asked Peter if he might help me cut the meat, to which he replied that his hand was bothering him, and Sarah muttered that she was quite exhausted from the journey, turning aside and continuing to fixate on the television.
Without protest, I set about cutting and marinating the meat myself. In the end, my daughter and I did all the work, laid the table, and none of our guests offered even once to help.
When my husband arrived home, I recounted the situation calmly. He was taken aback, said my relatives were rather cheeky, and called everyone to the table.
During the meal, a heavy silence hung over us, with everyone eating quietly. Peter grabbed three skewers straightaway and devoured them greedily. My husband glanced at them, clearly displeased by the atmosphere.
After wed finished eating, I asked kindly if they might help with the dishes, thinking perhaps their consciences would be pricked at last but it was not to be. Sarah said she couldnt possibly, as she had just done her nails, and Emily apparently couldnt manage washing up either.
Then, to my astonishment, our relatives declared it was too late to leave and announced theyd be staying the night, insisting they take our room because Peter required a firm mattress for his troublesome back.
At that point, my husbands patience ran out and he thundered at them:
“Do you think this is a hotel, with servants to wait on you? Pack your things now and be off home!”
I was stunned. I hurried to calm him, but my relatives didnt wait for further invitation they darted out, bundled into their car, and sped away.
