“If I’m such a terrible hostess, go stay in a hotel!”—I told my mother-in-law. My husband quickly regretted inviting his relatives for the holidays — Oh, finally we made it! Darlings, I’m so happy to see you! And this is my friend—we decided to come together and have a little change of scenery for a few days. My husband and I exchanged glances. Of course, it was the “perfect” moment to mention that we’d only expected her—and barely managed to pick her up, since if she’d called any later, my husband wouldn’t have been able to get off work. But our manners didn’t allow us to make a scene in front of a stranger. We forced a smile, greeted the “friend” and loaded everyone into the car. Along the way, my mother-in-law did most of the talking. Her friend was silent, gazing out the window. For a moment, I thought: “Well, maybe she won’t be a problem.” Wishful thinking… The problems started at the door, when our little dog ran up to greet them. — OH!—her friend shrieked so loudly my ears rang. The dog was startled and began barking, instinctively I stepped back, bumped into the doorframe and saw stars. My husband sighed in irritation and made the first comment—not to shout so loudly because we live in a flat and have neighbours, and we’d prefer to keep our hearing intact. — I’ve just never seen such little dogs before—she waved dismissively. My husband quietly repeated that next time she could be “amazed” a bit more calmly, and invited everyone inside. I set out what I’d prepared on the table. — I don’t eat fish—our guest pursed her lips when I served the appetisers. — No problem, there’s salad, potatoes, cold meats, plenty of other things. — I’m just not hungry—she sighed theatrically. My husband and I exchanged glances and looked at my mother-in-law—she didn’t see anything wrong. As if this was perfectly normal behaviour for a guest in someone else’s house. I cleared the table without saying a word. I didn’t have the strength to start a war within the first hour. Then came sleeping arrangements. We live in a small flat, but we’d prepared a folding chair and two inflatable mattresses—just in case, if someone stayed over. The plan: mother-in-law on the chair, her friend on the mattress in the kitchen. Our guest looked at the mattress as if it were some kind of insult. — Is this even comfortable? My husband forced a smile: — We’ve slept on those ourselves—we survived. I nodded. Truthfully, we were both barely holding ourselves back from saying everything on our minds. Turns out, we’d restrained ourselves for nothing. The next few days were one long, exhausting “nothing is quite right.” One thing was too salty. Another was tasteless. A third was “not suitable for guests.” My mother-in-law nodded and added her own “helpful” remarks—supposedly well-intentioned, but stinging like needles. And after they’d left, I discovered a new set of bed linen and several towels missing. Everything “nice” from the fridge was gone—cold meats, sweets, fruit. But what hit me hardest wasn’t that, but the conversation afterwards. My mother-in-law called to scold me—for not being “hospitable enough” and for failing to “organise a cultural program.” This from her—the same woman, where when we visit “as guests”, I do heavy chores and my husband becomes a handyman because “that’s only proper.” And then she said the line that lit the fuse: — And you’re a terrible hostess. Our guest didn’t like anything… I’m used to all sorts, but this… My husband lost it: — First, no one invited this “friend.” Second, no one is obligated to put up with complaints in their own home. And I had reached my limit. — If I’m such a terrible hostess—next time stay in a hotel. Both you and your “friend.” You can be as picky as you want there. From the other end, an outraged voice accused me that “sleeping on a mattress is worse than a railway station”, that “we have everything comfy for ourselves” but not for them. The call ended in an argument and a long silence. Honestly? My husband seemed relieved. Me—even more so. Time passed, and one day my phone rang at the worst possible moment. Mother-in-law. I answered, thinking: “Is this something serious?” — My friend and I are heading your way—she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.—And if you’re not home, we can just stay in your flat for two weeks. Where’s the spare key? I froze for a second. Then I felt something settle inside me. Calm. Clear. Guilt-free. — There is a key—I replied.—Write down the address. — Give it to me. — The address of the nearest hotel reception. They’ll give you a key—either to a room with a mattress, or a “king-size bed.” Depends on what you pay for. Silence on the other end, then threats, insults, “I’ll never invite you again.” I simply hung up and switched off my phone. I never found out how they solved it. And, honestly, I didn’t care. What really made me happy: she never called again. And if she ever decides to show up with her “friend” again, I already know my answer. ❓ Question for you: Would you put up with an uninvited guest who comes with complaints and then blames you for being a “bad host”—or would you just say straight up: “The hotel is waiting for you!”?

If Im such a dreadful hostessgo live in a hotel! I told my mother-in-law, with all the grace of someone whose tolerance had just run out. My husband swiftly regretted inviting his relatives to stay with us for the holidays.

Oh, finally! Weve arrived! trilled my mother-in-law, flinging herself at us in an embrace only marginally less suffocating than her opinions. Darlings, Im positively delighted! And this is my friend, Beverlythought wed bring a change of scene, you know, shake things up for a bit.

My husband and I exchanged the sort of glance that said, Great. We were expecting just her. Barely managed to pull strings at work as it is. But English manners are made for exactly these disasters; you dont make a fuss in front of strangers. So we plastered on smiles that felt like theyd been ironed on and hustled them into the car.

The drive was dominated by my mother-in-laws running commentary, while Beverly stared stoically out of the window. For a moment, I thought, Maybe shes not trouble. Ah, naïvetéits free and lasts precisely until you unlock your front door.

Our tiny terrier, Winston, bounded towards the newcomers.

GOOD GRACIOUS! shrieked Beverly, making my eardrums ring like Big Ben at noon.

Winston barked; I leapt back, clonked my elbow on the doorframe, and saw stars. My husband sighed loudly enough to send a gust of wind through the hallway.

Could you maybe refrain from bellowing? Weve got neighbours and, ideally, wed like to keep our hearing, he suggested.

Ive just never seen such a little dog, she said, wafting her hand as if he were the Loch Ness Monster.

My husband, ever diplomatic, muttered something about being surprised in a less operatic fashion next time, and ushered everyone inside.

Dinner was next. I laid out the best Id managed.

I dont eat fish, Beverly sniffed as I offered her some starters.

No worries; theres salad, potatoes, some nice cheddar, and other bits, I replied.

I dont fancy any of it, she sighed as if declining the Nobel Prize.

My husband and I exchanged exhausted glances, turning hopefully to my mother-in-lawwho seemed to think this was exemplary behaviour for a houseguest.

I cleared the table in silence, saving my reserve for further battles.

Then came sleeping arrangements. Our flat is strictly cosy on Rightmove, but wed unearthed a folding armchair and two inflatable mattresses just in case. Plan: Mum-in-law gets the chair, Beverly gets the mattress in the kitchen.

Beverly regarded her inflatable mattress as if Id suggested she sleep in a wheelie bin.

Is this meant to be comfortable?

My husband worked hard at his forced smile. Weve slept on them ourselves, havent come to any harm.

I nodded. In truth, both of us were biting down on opinions like it was the last biscuit in the tin.

Not that it mattered. The next few days were an endless game of Pick Fault with Everything. One thing was too salty. Another, tasteless. The third, unsuitable for guests. My mother-in-law nodded, sprinkling in her own helpful commentssharper than hedgerow brambles.

When they finally left, I discovered my new bedding set and several towels had vanished. The fridge had been raided for the good stuffcheese, jams, fruit. None of that finished me off, though; it was the phone call after.

My mother-in-law rang up just to scold. Wed apparently failed at being hospitable, didnt provide cultural entertainment, and so on. The very same woman at whose house I become a kitchen porter and my husband morphs into a handyman because thats how it should be.

She wrapped up her tirade with a flourish: Youre a terrible hostess. Beverly didnt like anything and Ive put up with a lot, but this

My husband snapped. Firstly, nobody invited Beverly. Secondly, no ones obliged to tolerate endless fuss right in their own living room.

Id had enough. If Im such a flop as a hostess, next time you and your Beverly can stay at a hotel. There, you can demand what you like.

She huffed about how sleeping on a mattress was worse than a railway station, moaned about how we had a proper bed for ourselves and tossed their dignity to the wind. The call ended in fireworks and a lovely, long silence.

Honestly? My husband looked ten stone lighter. Me? Even more.

Weeks ticked by peacefully until, during the busiest moment of a hectic day, my phone betrayed me: mother-in-law.

I answered, just in case someone had actually lost a limb or the house had burned down.

Were setting off with Beverly, she announced with all the authority of someone dictating affairs of state. If youre not in, well just use your flat for a fortnight. Wheres your spare key?

For a second, all systems froze. Then, something shifted in me. I spoke with a calm, easy cheer:

Yes, I do have a key. Jot down the address.

Go on.

The address of the nearest Premier Inn. Reception will give you a keyto a room with a mattress or a king bed, depending on your budget.

From the other end: stunned silence, followed by threats, insults, and, Youll never be invited again!

I hung up and switched off my phone. Never found out what happened next. Frankly, couldnt care less.

Best bit: never another phone call.

And if mother-in-law ever thinks to visit with a friend again, I know precisely what my answer is.

Question for the crowd:
Would you tolerate an uninvited guest who makes demands, then tells you off for being a poor hostessor would you simply say, The hotels that way, love?