Every time my in-laws visited, my mother-in-law Monica barged into our bedroom like it was hers—pushing aside my stuff, lighting candles, and making herself at home. Jake, my husband, never stood up to her, and for five years, I quietly surrendered our space.This time, I was done. I told Monica firmly the guest room was hers and that our bedroom was off-limits.
Of course, she ignored me and marched straight into our bedroom anyway, dragging her luggage and scattering her perfumes and candles.I smiled sweetly and said, “Whatever makes you comfortable.”That night, Jake and I retreated to the guest room, and I revealed my secret: I’d stocked our bedroom with lacy lingerie, adult toys, and risqué movies—everything that screamed “private couple zone.”
The next morning, Monica stormed into the kitchen looking pale and mortified. “We’ll take the guest room,” she stammered.Since then, peace reigned. Monica and her husband stuck to the guest room, and Jake admitted I was “evil and brilliant.”
Sometimes, a little boundary-setting requires a clever trap—and a dash of revenge.