**Unwanted Guests: A Tale of Domestic Rebellion**
Emily wiped her hands on her apron with a weary sigh.
“Barbara, these guests of yours are driving me up the wall,” her mother-in-law grumbled, perched at the kitchen table of their cottage in the quaint village of Oakbridge. “How on earth do we get rid of them? They seem to think our place is a holiday retreat! And their grandkids? Absolute nightmares! Why aren’t you saying anything, Em?”
“I’m thinking,” Emily replied, staring thoughtfully out the window. “Are you *sure* you want them gone?”
“Absolutely,” Barbara nodded sharply. “A whole week of this! My husband’s got it easy—knocks back their homemade cider and passes out. Meanwhile, they’re up all night traipsing about—balcony, kitchen, loo…”
“Leave it to me,” Emily said firmly. “Don’t react to anything. I’ll do the talking.”
And so, the relatives arrived.
“Linda, what on earth is this?!” shrieked Barbara’s sister, frozen in horror at the doorstep.
Emily had been just as baffled when her husband broke the news earlier.
“Em, Mum’s got guests coming. We’ve got to play host.”
“*Your* parents’ guests?” she frowned. “*We’re* hosting?”
“Well, yes,” James nodded. “Mum asked for help. They’re arriving tomorrow.”
“In our tiny rental flat? One bedroom?” Emily could feel irritation bubbling inside her.
“But they’re family! Mum needs help with the cooking. She was quite insistent.”
“Could’ve just said so instead of beating around the bush,” Emily sighed. “Fine, I’ll help cook. What else?”
“Clean everything, change the curtains, the usual.”
“Your mum’s place is already spotless,” Emily pointed out.
“Not *guest-ready* spotless.”
“And we’re scrubbing it all again after they leave? Remember last time? Your uncle Nigel nearly wrecked the curtains with his grubby hands! And the balcony looked like a skip. Mark my words, I’m not letting those sorts into *our* home.”
“But we’ll have a proper house soon!” James reminded her.
“Not up for debate. Housewarming’s in summer, and strictly outdoors. I’m overseeing everything. No muddy paws allowed.”
“You’re taking this cleanliness thing too far,” James muttered.
“Pot, meet kettle. Your mum nearly had a meltdown last time. She’s not exactly spry anymore. Relax—we’ve got it handled.”
Back in Oakbridge, Barbara sat at the kitchen table, eyeing Emily hopefully.
“Em, these guests are a nightmare. Nigel’s already hinting about moving closer and popping round all the time. And those grandkids! Compared to our Oliver, it’s like chalk and cheese. Why so quiet?”
“Thinking,” Emily said. “*Really* sure you want them gone?”
“I’d sooner host a flock of seagulls,” Barbara groaned. “A full week of this! My husband’s in heaven—gets sloshed on their elderflower wine and snores away, while they roam about all night. Last time, they chucked a plant pot off the balcony! Thank goodness it was dark—just scared the neighbours’ cats. Shame about the pot, though. Brand new.”
“What’s on the menu?” Emily asked.
“Maybe we’re doing it wrong?” Barbara mused.
“How did *they* host when you visited?”
“Well… it wasn’t *bad*…”
“Out with it!” Emily pressed.
“They’re different at home. Nigel’s wife, Margaret, keeps him on a tight leash. No lounging at the table—she’s got him digging or tinkering nonstop.”
“What’s the food like?”
“Basic. Thin soup, boiled potatoes, pickled cabbage, homegrown cucumbers. Not even a proper roast! We even brought meat once, but they ‘forgot’ to cook it. Margaret said the table was ‘already full.’”
“*Full* is one word for it,” Emily smirked. “Three types of cucumbers: fresh, pickled, in salad. Veg, herbs, potatoes. Not a sausage in sight—literally. Courgette fritters!”
“Maybe they’re vegetarians?” Barbara wondered.
“At home, sure. Here? They devour meat like it’s going out of fashion,” Emily snorted. “Got it! We’ll feed them *their* menu. Cheaper, less cooking. No meat. And do we *really* need to deep-clean before they arrive?”
“Place is tidy,” Barbara admitted. “I’ll clean up after. But no *meat*?”
“James and your husband can suffer. They’ll get a proper meal once the guests leave. Besides, it’s Lent.”
“We’ve never observed Lent,” Barbara said, baffled.
“We do now. If they complain, blame me. Their daughter-in-law’s ‘difficult,’ but I’ll be downright *wicked*.”
“But—”
“Needs must. Just play along. We’re moving in with you for the week. Oliver too. No way they’re hogging two rooms. They can share one—balcony included.”
“But there’s only a sofa bed! Two couples *and* kids?” Barbara floundered.
“Necessary evil. James’ll bring an air mattress. They’ll fit.”
The guests arrived. Nigel eyed the table and scowled.
“Where’s the meat?” he demanded. “This is a bit… spartan. Even the ‘salad’ is missing ham!”
“That’s *not* a salad,” Emily said smoothly. “Decent meat’s too dear these days. Thought about bones for stock, but the butcher’s selling off old bits—no takers in Lent, yet prices sky-high!”
“Em, love, don’t fret,” Barbara cut in. “No sense cooking with iffy ingredients.”
“*Exactly*!” Emily beamed. “Better a nice veggie soup. Herby potatoes, courgette-and-quinoa cakes. Shockingly meat-like—try one! All steamed, no guilt. Where else’d you get such healthy fare? You’ve got meat at home! Here, it’s beetroot salad, carrot slaw—seasonal, sustainable.”
“What’s for tomorrow?” Nigel grumbled.
“Leftover soup in the fridge,” Emily said. “We’re all at work. Fancy something else? Feel free to cook. Share, if you like—we’re off meat anyway.”
“Shall we fetch you lobster next? Caviar?” Nigel sneered.
“Bit fancy, but if you’re offering,” Emily smiled. “Then we’ll skip cooking tomorrow.”
“Linda, what *is* this?” Barbara’s sister hissed. “Who’s in charge here?”
“James and Em are staying with us a while,” Barbara sighed. “We’re adapting.”
“How long must you endure this?” Margaret asked.
“Till the house is done,” Emily said cheerily. “Fancy lending a hand? Plenty of work—one labour day, then weekends free. Early start tomorrow, so bedtime! Gents’ll sort the beds and kids. You’ve got the ‘best’ room—guests of honour! James’ll inflate the mattress.”
“All of us *here*?” Margaret gasped. “You’re not leaving?”
“Nope, we live here now. Cosy, but needs must. Oh, and no midnight wanderings—I sleepwalk. If you see me, don’t scream or wake me. Mostly harmless, though.”
“Peachy,” Nigel muttered.
The guests slept miserably. By morning, they were already packing.
“Bit cramped,” Margaret sniffed. “We’re not used to sharing with kids. Thanks for the… *memorable* meal. We’re off. Our daughter-in-law’s no saint, but *yours*, Linda—good grief! Even a stroll was dodgy after that ‘feast.’”
“What’s wrong with our food?” Emily cut in, faux-offended. “Perfectly tasty! Take what you’re given. We’re all used to it—you’ll adjust. Sleep well?”
“*Divine*,” Margaret lied.
“Brilliant! Do visit again,” Emily chirped.
A month later, James asked, “Em, why’ve Mum’s guests gone quiet? Shall we invite them to the housewarming?”
“Hard pass,” Emily said. “I’m not eating another quinoa cake. Let them think the house is still ‘under construction.’”
Barbara wanted help with the guests—she got it. Now the guests are… mysteriously scarce.
