When my mother-in-law moved in, she refused to lift a finger, insisting she was just a “guest” in our home. Instead of confronting her or kicking her out, I got creative. I decided to give her the full VIP treatment—until she couldn’t take it anymore.
The Unwanted Guest
I never thought my mother-in-law, Linda, was a neat freak. But I also didn’t expect to become her personal maid.
When Jason, my husband, told me that his mom had sold her condo and needed a place to stay “for a little while,” I hesitated. The last time we spent more than a weekend together, she had criticized everything—from my cooking to the way I folded towels.
“Just until she figures things out,” Jason promised, as if that made it any better.
“How long is ‘a little while’?” I asked, already regretting this conversation.
He shrugged. “A couple of weeks? Maybe a month?”
I sighed, knowing deep down that this was a disaster waiting to happen. “Fine. But we need ground rules.”
“Of course,” Jason agreed quickly. That was his first mistake—thinking he’d actually enforce them.
The Royal Treatment Begins
Linda moved in the following weekend with three suitcases, a collection of houseplants, and absolutely no respect for personal space.
At first, I tried to be optimistic. She unpacked, filled my kitchen with organic tea she never drank, and made snide remarks about how “young people these days” relied too much on microwaves instead of “real cooking.”
By the second week, I knew we had a problem.
Linda did absolutely nothing. She left dirty dishes on the table, promising to rinse them later—but later never came. My bathroom mirror was constantly covered in smudges of makeup and fingerprints, a daily reminder that she had no intention of wiping anything down.
Laundry? Oh, she didn’t do her own. Instead, she casually tossed her clothes into my hamper, as if I was just dying to wash her sweatpants along with my work blouses.
I tried to be nice about it.
“Hey, Linda, do you mind tossing your towel in the hamper?”
She gave me a sweet, clueless smile. “Oh, honey, I’m just a guest! You wouldn’t ask a guest to do chores, would you?”
A guest. In the home I paid for.
Meanwhile, Jason was completely useless.
“She’s my mom, babe,” he said when I vented. “Can’t we just let her be comfortable?”
Comfortable.
She was living like royalty while I ran around cleaning up after two adults.
The Coffee Incident
I swallowed my frustration. I let it go.
Until the coffee incident.
Saturday morning. My one sacred day to sleep in, the only morning I could truly relax. I shuffled into the kitchen, barely awake, craving my special coffee—the expensive brand I bought just for myself.
And there she was.
Linda, sitting at my table, sipping from my favorite mug, drinking the last cup.
I stared at her, willing myself to stay calm, but then my gaze drifted to the sink. Dirty plates. Crumbs everywhere. A total disaster—left for me to clean up.
I took a deep breath. “Linda, would you mind helping with the dishes today?”
She didn’t even look up.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, waving a dismissive hand, “I’m sure you’ll get to it.”
Something inside me snapped.
But I didn’t yell. I didn’t argue.
I smiled.
Because in that moment, a perfect idea formed in my head.
The VIP Experience
For the next week, I played the perfect host. I didn’t nag, didn’t complain, and certainly didn’t ask her to clean up anymore. Instead, I made sure she got the full guest experience.
Monday morning, Linda woke up to a printed menu on her nightstand. At the top, in elegant script, it read:
“Welcome to the Family B&B! Please select your complimentary breakfast option.”
Underneath were three simple choices:
☕ Cereal & Milk – Served in the finest ceramic bowl.
🍞 Toast & Butter – Lightly crisped to perfection.
🍛 Chef’s Surprise – A delightful mystery from last night’s leftovers.
Linda walked into the kitchen, menu in hand, looking confused. “What is this?”
“Oh, just a little something I put together,” I said cheerfully. “I know you’re a guest, so I figured you shouldn’t have to fend for yourself in the mornings.”
She frowned. “But where’s my omelet? You always make eggs on Mondays.”
I gave her a sympathetic look. “Oh, sorry! The upgraded breakfast package isn’t included in the complimentary stay.” I gestured to the counter. “Would you like cereal or toast?”
She huffed but took the cereal.
One small victory for me.
Tuesday night, right around 11 p.m., I switched off the WiFi router.
Not five minutes later, Linda came stomping out. “Emma! The internet’s not working.”
“Oh, right,” I said, stifling a yawn. “We have an automatic shutoff system now. Reduces cyber threats and keeps everything running smoothly.”
She blinked. “That’s ridiculous. I was in the middle of a show.”
“Sorry, house rules! It turns back on at 7 a.m. Have a good night!”
By Wednesday, I left laminated signs in every area I cleaned:
🛑 “Housekeeping in Progress! Do Not Disturb!”
One on the bathroom mirror after wiping off her makeup smudges. Another in the kitchen after scrubbing her crusty plates.
By Thursday, I stopped making dinner. Instead, I left a pile of takeout menus in Linda’s room.
That evening, she stood in the kitchen, looking bewildered. “What’s for dinner?”
“Oh, I figured you might want to pick something yourself! Guests should have options,” I said, handing her a menu.
Sunday morning, she found an envelope on her dresser.
Inside was a neatly written invoice:
🧺 Laundry Services – $50
🧼 Maid Service – $30
☕ Coffee & Breakfast Supply Fee – $20
🏨 Hotel Convenience Charge – $15
At the bottom, I had written:
“Thank you for staying at the Family B&B! Please settle your balance by the end of your stay.”
Seconds later, Linda stormed into the kitchen, waving the paper. “What is this?!”
“Oh, just an invoice. Standard hospitality rates.”
“I am not paying to live in my own son’s house!”
I tilted my head. “Oh? I thought you were a guest? And guests don’t stay for free, Linda.”
And then—oh, it was beautiful—she said it:
“I guess I’ll just find somewhere else to stay!”
Jason hesitated, but I shot him a look that said, I dare you to argue.
He sighed. “Mom… maybe that’s for the best.”
And just like that, Linda was gone within a week.
The house was peaceful again. No more dirty dishes. No more towels on my furniture. No more waking up to passive-aggressive comments.
Jason finally admitted, “Okay… maybe you had a point.”
And me? I poured myself a fresh cup of my special coffee, stretched out on my guest-free couch, and savored my victory.
