Of course they do! Because I buy them, season them, cook them, and serve them while she critiques my grilling technique from the comfort of my own patio chair.
Memorial Day had been the usual disaster. Juliette swept in and immediately began rearranging my living room furniture like she was directing a Broadway production.
“This couch would look soooo much better facing the window,” she declared, shoving my sectional across the hardwood floor with the determination of a woman possessed.
“Actually, I like it where it is.”
“Trust me, dear. I have an eye for these things.” She stood back, admiring her handiwork while I watched helplessly as my coffee table now blocked the hallway. “Oh, and you really should prune those roses. They’re looking rather… wild.”
Wild? Oh, yeah! My prize-winning roses that I’d spent three years nurturing were apparently… wild.
Meanwhile, her daughters, Sarah and Kate, had already claimed my kitchen island as their personal command center, spreading their kids’ snacks across my clean counters like they were marking territory.
Six grandchildren under the age of 10 descended upon my house like a plague of locusts, leaving juice box carnage in their wake.
“Where’s the bathroom?” eight-year-old Tyler demanded, dripping popsicle onto my white carpet.
“Down the hall, sweetie,” I said, already reaching for the carpet cleaner.
“Why don’t you have good snacks?” his sister Madison whined.
The good snacks. The ones they never brought. The ones that somehow materialized from my grocery budget every single time.
“Annie, the meat looks a bit dry!” Juliette called from the patio. “Are you sure you’re not overcooking it?”
That evening, after they’d finally left, taking nothing but full bellies and somehow forgetting to take their trash, I found myself picking popsicle sticks out of my flower beds while Bryan loaded the dishwasher.
“Bee, your mom moved our couch again.”
“She’s just trying to help, Nini!” he replied, but I caught the apologetic look in his eyes.
“And ate $200 worth of groceries. Again.”
“I know, I know. I’ll talk to her.”
But we both knew he wouldn’t. Bryan was caught between his loyalty to his family and his love for me. And I was caught between my desire to be a good wife and my rapidly depleting bank account.
The phone rang the next morning. Juliette’s voice sailed through the receiver like a ship’s horn.
“Annie, darling! We had such a wonderful time yesterday. The children are still talking about those ribs!”
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