My Monster-in-Law’s Outrageous Demands Led to an Epic Showdown
I never thought I’d be in a showdown with my mother-in-law over a mattress, but here we are. You won’t believe the drama that unfolded in my home this week! My nightmare of a mother-in-law, Cruella (okay, not her real name, but it fits), barged into our lives unannounced, looking like she was ready to move in permanently. I’m talking multiple suitcases, a beauty regime that would put a Kardashian to shame, and an attitude that could curdle milk.
She criticized everything from day one – from my “tragically pedestrian” decor to my “embarrassing attempt at cooking.” I swear, if eye-rolling burned calories, I’d be a supermodel by now.
But hold onto your hats, because it gets better. The breaking point? Her back, apparently. On day three of this delightful visit, Her Majesty decided that the guest room mattress was “torture on her delicate spine.” Did she politely ask for a foam topper? Oh no, that would be far too reasonable.
“This pitiful excuse for a guest bed is murdering my spine!” she screeched. “I’m taking your room. Now.”
When I refused, you’d think I’d suggested she sleep in the yard. She exploded, going full banshee mode. “You ungrateful brat!” she shrieked. “I’d rather sleep on the floor than another night on that torture device!” She continued ranting about how I was a “disrespectful girl” and a “selfish, inconsiderate daughter-in-law.”
But wait, there’s more! She then threatened to call my husband and spin some sob story about how cruel I was. That’s when I snapped. I channeled my inner fierce goddess and told her that if our humble abode wasn’t up to her royal standards, she was welcome to find accommodations elsewhere.
So I called her bluff and showed her the door. You should have seen her face! It was like I’d grown a second head. She burst into tears (Oscar-worthy performance, I must say) and wailed about how I was “throwing her out on the street.” I swear, I half expected her to dramatically faint onto a chaise lounge.
Keeping my cool (barely), I helped Her Highness pack her bags and called her a cab to the Ritz-Carlton. Because apparently, only 5-star luxury will do for her “delicate spine.”
Now, the family’s in uproar. My phone is blowing up like a Michael Bay movie. My MIL is playing the victim card to anyone who’ll listen, and I’m being painted as the wicked witch who dared to stand up to the queen. My husband is stuck in the middle, torn between loyalty to his mom and the realization that his wife isn’t a doormat.
So, NISE, was I wrong for giving my dramatic diva of a MIL the boot when she tried to claim our bedroom as her royal chamber? Or should I have rolled out the red carpet and handed over the keys to our kingdom? I’m wondering: did I just save my sanity or torpedo my marriage?
Source: nowiveseeneverything
