When my mother-in-law, Linda, moved in, I never expected her to act like she was on vacation. She insisted she was just a “guest” in our home, and instead of asking her to leave, I decided to get creative and give her the full VIP treatment—until she couldn’t take it anymore.
I thought I knew what to expect, but this was a whole new level.
When Jason told me his mom had sold her condo and needed somewhere to stay “for a little while,” my heart sank. The last time we spent more than a weekend together, she criticized everything I did, from my cooking to how I folded towels. I didn’t want to go through that again.
“Just for a little while,” Jason promised, trying to sound reassuring.
I raised an eyebrow. “How long is ‘a little while’?”
Jason shrugged. “A couple of weeks? Maybe a month?”
I sighed deeply. “Fine. But we need ground rules.”
Jason agreed without hesitation, but I should’ve known that meant absolutely nothing. No one was going to enforce those rules but me.
The following weekend, Linda arrived with three suitcases, a bunch of houseplants, and absolutely no respect for personal space. At first, I convinced myself it wouldn’t be that bad. She unpacked her things, filled my kitchen with organic tea she never drank, and made passive-aggressive comments about how “young people these days” relied too much on microwaves instead of “real cooking.”
By the second week, it became clear that Linda wasn’t just staying temporarily—she was turning into a full-time problem.
She left dirty dishes on the table, promising to rinse them later, but later never came. My bathroom mirror was constantly smeared with makeup and fingerprints, and every day I had to clean up after her like I was the hired help. Laundry? She didn’t do her own. Instead, she casually tossed her clothes into my hamper, like I was begging to wash her sweatpants along with my work blouses.
One morning, I decided to be diplomatic about it.
“Hey, Linda, could you toss your towel in the hamper?” I asked.
She flashed 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 absolutely useless.
“She’s my mom, babe,” he said, when I vented to him. “Can’t we just let her be comfortable?”
Comfortable. She was living like royalty while I ran around cleaning up after two adults.
But I bit my tongue and carried on—until the coffee incident.
Saturday morning. My one sacred day to sleep in. The one day I could finally relax. I shuffled into the kitchen, barely awake, and made a beeline for my special coffee. It was my little indulgence, the expensive brand I bought just for myself.
And then I saw it.
There she was, Linda, sitting at the table, sipping from my favorite mug, drinking the last of my coffee.
I stared at her, trying to keep calm. But as I glanced over at the sink, I saw three dirty plates, a coffee mug, and crumbs everywhere—a disaster zone left for me to clean up.
Taking a slow breath, I said, “Linda, would you mind helping with the dishes today?”
She didn’t even bother looking up from her mug. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sure you’ll get to it.”
Something inside me snapped. But instead of yelling, I smiled.
In that moment, an idea started to form. I was going to treat Linda exactly like a guest—every single day.
For the next week, I played the perfect host. I didn’t nag. I didn’t complain. I didn’t ask her to clean up after herself. I made sure she got the full guest experience.
On Monday morning, Linda woke up to a neatly printed menu on her nightstand. It read:
“Welcome to the Family B&B! Please select your complimentary breakfast option.”
Underneath, there were three 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 wandered into the kitchen, holding the menu, looking completely confused. “What’s this?” she asked.
“Oh, just a little something I put together,” I said cheerfully. “I know you’re a guest, so I thought 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. Would you like cereal or toast?”
She huffed but chose cereal. One small victory for me.
Linda had this little habit of staying up late, watching YouTube videos and scrolling through Facebook while the rest of us tried to sleep. So, Tuesday night, around 11 p.m., I decided to switch off the Wi-Fi router.
Not five minutes later, Linda came stomping out of her room. “Emma! The internet’s not working!”
“Oh, right,” I said, stifling a yawn. “We have an automatic shutoff system now. It’s part of our house security protocol—helps reduce cyber threats and keeps everything running smoothly.”
She blinked. “That’s ridiculous. I was in the middle of a show!”
“Sorry, house rules,” I said with a sweet smile. “It turns back on at 7 a.m. Have a good night!”
She muttered under her breath and stomped back to her room.
By Wednesday, I was stepping things up. Every time I cleaned up her mess, I left a laminated sign in the area that said:
🛑 “Housekeeping in Progress! Do Not Disturb!”
One went on the bathroom mirror after I wiped off her makeup smudges. Another went on the kitchen counter after I scrubbed her dirty plates. I even put one on the couch where she left crumbs.
She scowled every time she saw them. “What’s with all these signs?” she asked, her irritation clear.
“Oh, it’s just a reminder that housekeeping is an important part of any guest experience,” I said sweetly.
Her eye twitched, but I almost felt bad. Almost.
By Thursday, I stopped cooking dinner. Instead, I left a neatly stacked 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!” I said, handing her a menu. “Guests should have options. There’s a great Chinese place down the street. Or pizza if you’re in the mood.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “But you always cook.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t want to impose. Enjoy!”
Jason, of course, just grabbed a menu and went along with it, completely oblivious to what I was doing.
Sunday morning, Linda 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 wrote:
“Thank you for staying at the Family B&B! Please settle your balance by the end of your stay.”
I was halfway through my first sip of coffee when I heard an outraged gasp from down the hall. I instantly knew this was going to be good.
Linda stormed into the kitchen, waving the bill in my face, her face flushed with rage. “What is this?” she demanded, shaking the paper at me.
I took another slow sip of my coffee. “Oh, just an invoice for your stay. Standard hospitality rates.”
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “I am not paying to live in my own son’s house!”
I tilted my head, smiling sweetly. “Oh? I thought you were a guest? And guests don’t stay for free, Linda.”
For a moment, she was too stunned to speak. Then she turned to Jason, who had just walked in, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
“Jason,” she sputtered, thrusting the bill at him. “Your wife is trying to charge me for staying here!”
Jason blinked at the paper, then at me.
“Babe,” he said slowly, “is this for real?”
I smiled sweetly again. “Of course not. I’m not actually charging her. I’m just following her logic. Guests don’t clean up after themselves, so they pay for service instead.”
Jason looked between me and his mother, realization dawning on him. Meanwhile, Linda’s mouth opened and closed, unable to find the words.
“This is ridiculous!” she shrieked. “I don’t feel welcome here anymore!”
I raised an eyebrow. And then—oh, it was beautiful—she said it.
“I guess I’ll just find somewhere else to stay!” she announced.
Jason hesitated, but I shot him a look that said, I dare you to argue. He sighed, rubbing his face.
“Mom… maybe that’s for the best.”
And just like that, within a week, Linda was gone.
The house was peaceful again. No more dirty dishes, no more towels left on my furniture, and 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.
Linda may have been too special to clean up after herself—but in the end?
She cleaned herself right out of my house.
