I gave my wife a diamond bracelet for her promotion. She cried when she opened it. I knew she loved it.
Two days later, my mother-in-law, Celia, called me. She said I had it easy. She mentioned I never gave her gifts like that. She sounded hurt.
She had done this before. When I bought my wife a designer handbag, she complained at dinner that her purse was falling apart. When I planned a weekend getaway for Jane, Celia reminded us she had never had a vacation in decades.
One day before Mother’s Day, I gathered flowers from my late mother’s garden. I restored an antique vase. I thought this gift would show care. We handed it to Celia during dinner. She looked at it and scoffed: “Your wife gets diamonds, I get weeds?” Jane was mortified. She explained the work behind it. Celia offered a tight smile and placed the flowers in the kitchen. The evening ended with passive jabs from her.
Soon after, Jane asked me to get her a tarantula. She loved unusual things. She picked a Chilean Rose Hair. I got it. I named it Rosie. She spent hours watching it in a terrarium.
Then an idea struck me. I ordered another tarantula. I packaged it with care, added a note: “Since you always want what Jane gets. Enjoy! Love, Andrew.” I shipped it to Celia’s address.
Three days later, my phone exploded with texts and calls from Celia. She accused me of cruelty. She said she hated bugs. She yelled she could have died—she claimed she had a heart condition. I stayed calm. I told her she asked for what I gave Jane, so I gave her the same gift. She hung up.
Later I heard she screamed when she opened the box. She dropped it, the spider skittered. Her son had to come remove it. She muttered, “Who sends a SPIDER?!”
I waited for a reaction. She got hers.
