When my mother-in-law, Linda, moved in, she refused to do a single chore, claiming she was just a “guest” in our home. Instead of kicking her out, I decided to get creative. If she wanted to be a guest, I would give her the full VIP treatment—until she couldn’t take it anymore.
The Unwanted Guest Arrives
I never thought of Linda as a neat freak, but I also never expected to become her personal maid.
When Jason told me 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—my cooking, the way I folded towels, even the scent of my laundry detergent.
“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 the conversation.
He shrugged. “A couple of weeks? Maybe a month?”
I sighed, knowing I was going to regret this. “Fine. But we need ground rules.”
“Of course,” Jason agreed—his first mistake, thinking he’d actually enforce them.
Linda moved in that weekend with three enormous suitcases, a jungle of houseplants, and absolutely zero respect for personal space.
At first, I convinced myself it wouldn’t be so bad. She unpacked, filled my kitchen with expensive organic teas she never drank, and made passive-aggressive comments about how “young people these days” relied too much on microwaves instead of “real cooking.”
By week two, the real Linda emerged.
She left dirty dishes on the table, promising to rinse them later. Later never came.
The bathroom mirror? Always smeared with makeup and fingerprints. A daily reminder that she had no plans of cleaning anything.
Laundry? Oh, she didn’t do her own. She just tossed her clothes into my hamper, assuming I was dying to wash her sweatpants with my work blouses.
I tried to be nice.
“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 absolutely useless.
“She’s my mom, babe,” he said when I vented. “Can’t we just let her be comfortable?”
Comfortable.
She was living like a queen while I ran around cleaning up after two grown adults.
I swallowed my frustration and let it go.
Until the coffee incident.
The Last Straw
Saturday morning. My sacred day to sleep in. My one peaceful morning. I shuffled into the kitchen, craving the one thing that could make me feel human—my special coffee. The expensive brand I bought just for myself as a small indulgence.
And there she was.
Linda, sitting at my table, sipping from my favorite mug, drinking the last cup.
I stared, forcing myself to stay calm, but my gaze drifted to the sink. Three plates. A coffee mug. Crumbs everywhere. A disaster zone she had no intention of cleaning 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, beautiful idea formed in my head.
The VIP Experience
If Linda wanted to be treated like a guest, I would treat her exactly like one.
For the next week, I became the perfect host, smiling sweetly while executing my plan. I didn’t nag. I didn’t complain. I certainly didn’t ask her to clean up anymore. Instead, I made sure she got the full “guest experience.”
Monday Morning: The Breakfast Menu
Linda woke up to a neatly 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.”
☕ 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.
She walked into the kitchen, menu in hand, looking confused. “What’s this?”
“Oh, just something I put together,” I said cheerfully. “I know you’re a guest, so you shouldn’t have to fend for yourself in the mornings.”
She frowned. “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 took the cereal.
Tuesday Night: The WiFi Shutoff
Linda had a little habit—watching YouTube and scrolling Facebook well into the night, giggling at videos while we tried to sleep. That’s when I introduced my next change.
At exactly 11 p.m., I switched off the WiFi router.
Not five minutes later, Linda stormed out. “Emma! The internet’s not working!”
“Oh, right,” I said, stifling a yawn. “It’s our new house security protocol. Reduces cyber threats. It turns back on at 7 a.m. Have a good night!”
She muttered under her breath but stomped back to her room.
Wednesday: Housekeeping Signs
Every time I cleaned up her mess, I left a laminated sign in the area:
🛑 Housekeeping in Progress! Do Not Disturb!
On the bathroom mirror. The kitchen counter. The couch where she left crumbs.
She scowled every time she saw one. “What’s with all these signs?”
“Oh, just reminders that housekeeping is part of any guest experience,” I said sweetly.
Her eye twitched.
Thursday: Dinner Menu
By Thursday, I stopped making dinner. Instead, I left a stack of takeout menus in Linda’s room.
“What’s for dinner?” she asked.
“Oh, I figured you might want to pick something yourself! Guests should have options.” I handed her a menu. “Pizza? Chinese? Your choice!”
She pursed her lips. “But you always cook.”
“Didn’t want to impose. Enjoy!”
Jason just grabbed a menu and went along with it. Oblivious as ever.
The Final Bill
Sunday morning, Linda found an envelope on her dresser. Inside was an 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.”
Seconds later, I heard it—an outraged gasp.
Linda stormed into the kitchen, waving the bill. “What is this?!”
“Oh, just standard hospitality rates,” I said, sipping my coffee.
Her face turned red. “I guess I’ll just find somewhere else to stay!”
Jason sighed. “Mom… maybe that’s for the best.”
And just like that, Linda was gone within a week.
The house was peaceful again.
Jason admitted, “Okay… maybe you had a point.”
I stretched out on my guest-free couch, sipping my special coffee, and smiled.
Linda may have been too special to clean up after herself. But in the end?
She cleaned herself right out of my house.
