My mother-in-law once gifted me anti-wrinkle cream and bathroom scales for my milestone birthday. She didnt deliver her surprise at the party this time… She had no idea where her surprise would find her in return. She never expected it, but this time, the tables would turnand I had to act right there and then.
My birthday was supposed to be my big nightpure triumph. Id just been promoted, my wife and I had finally paid off our mortgage, and I felt on top of the world, expecting nothing but heartfelt toasts and warm words ahead. But right at that pivotal moment, when the doorbell rang, in walked my beloved second mumMargaret Smith.
Margaret always had the knack for delivering compliments that made you want to run to the bathroom to scrub off the awkwardness. Oh, what a daring dress for those hips of yours, or, Youve lost weight… work must be wearing you down! Her kindness always left a bitter aftertaste. But this time, she truly outdid herself.
How marvellously dreadful you look
The guests were all seated, the table groaning with food, the room alive with cheerful greetings. The moment had come to give presents: slightly embarrassing, but still pleasant. Margaret rose to her feet, asked for everyones attention, and began her speechlong-winded, pompous, and suspiciously philosophical.
She mused about how swiftly time passes, how a womans beauty is like a flower that needs tending lest it wither, how a man needs an attractive and lively wife by his side. As I listened, it was clear: something special was on the way.
She handed me a bag. I unwrapped the paper to find two packages. In the first: bathroom scales. In the second: a set of mature skincare, with the largest typeface Id seen outside a warning label: 45+. Intensive Restoration for Ageing Skin. Fights Deep Wrinkles.
An awkward hush settled on the room. My wife blushed crimson, ready to disappear beneath the tablecloth. The guests exchanged glances, flashing uneasy smiles, uncertain where to look. Margaret radiated pure satisfaction.
This is for the years ahead, dear! Prevention is the best medicine. And the scales… Well, you did mention after Christmas your jeans were a bit snug. I care for you as a mother should.
I forced a smile, squeezed out a perfunctory thank you, and shoved the boxes under the table. But inside, my evening snapped in two. I managed polite conversation, but beneath it all throbbed humiliation, offence, and rage.
A dish I prepared for six months
I didnt kick up a fuss. I didnt bin the scalesthough, to be honest, at one point I fantasised about sending them sailing off the balcony. The cream found pride of place in the bathroom, for display, but I had no intention of ever using it.
Every time Margaret visited, shed toss a satisfied look at her gifts and enquire,
Have you used them?
Im saving them for a special occasion, I replied as neutrally as I could.
Meanwhile, I waited for her birthday. She was soon to turn fifty-fivea major occasion, a proper party, the perfect chance to remind her that not everyone should be forced to swallow such care in silence.
I mulled over it for ages. A tit-for-tat gifta blood pressure monitor and a cream for age spotsseemed too obvious; it would show her digs had stung. I needed something subtler. Sharper. Painful, but graceful.
Soon, it clicked. Margarets Achilles heel wasnt her health or figure, but her tongueher need to advise, criticise, meddle in our business, and comment on everything, from my curtains to how I chop carrots.
I popped into the bookshop and found a true masterpiecea handsome, gift-bound hardback with the perfect title: The Art of Silence: How to Keep Your Thoughts to Yourself and Maintain Family Harmony. Below, a subtitle that made a small victory anthem play in my mind: A Practical Guide for Those Who Love Unsolicited Advice.
To complete the set, I picked out an elegant magnifying glass with a lovely handlestraight out of an Agatha Christie novel.
For the cream and the scales
Her birthday was held at a restaurant. Dozens of people camefamily, friends, colleagues. Margaret was in her element, basking in attention and revelling in her status as queen of the evening. She lived for this.
When it was our turn, my wife played it safe: said something warm and presentedon our behalfa spa voucher. Were not monsters, after all; the official gift had to be respectable.
Then I smiled and produced my parcel.
Margaret, this is from me personally. A little extra, for your soul and self-development.
She took the bag, curiosity all over her face, and slowly unwrapped it, savouring the moment. First, she withdrew the magnifying glass.
Oh how lovely… is it antique? But whats it for? My eyesights still going strong, you know.
I smiled gently and replied, So you can appreciate peoples virtues, not just look for faults.
The guests laughed politely, not yet realising the full sting. Margaret tensed a little, but finished unwrapping… and found the book.
She read the title to herself, then her lips moved as if incredulous: How to Keep Your Thoughts to Yourself…
She looked up at me.
A book? she managed, voice quivering.
Yes, Margaret, I said clearly and calmly. At my birthday, you gave such a thoughtful hint about appearances. I thought fifty-five was the perfect age to invest in inner peace and family harmony. It will do you just as much good as the anti-wrinkle cream did for me.
Red blotches crept up her face. She couldnt make a sceneotherwise, the book would become instant evidence of her flaw. So she said stiffly,
Thank you. How… original.
And set the book aside as if it were unpleasant and alive.
Have you reached the section on tact yet?
No, we didnt stop talking. There was no hysteria after the party. Something far more interesting happened: the rules of the game changed.
That night, she learned a simple lessonthis was a game for two now. For every innocent barb from her, Id have an answerone that would make it hard even to muster a smile.
At first, for weeks, she phoned only my wife. With me she was cold, formal, almost distant. But soon, almost a miracle: unsolicited advice sharply decreased.
She stopped nattering about my weight and stopped slyly commenting on my eating. And whenever she was itching to say something well-meant, I just looked her in the eye and asked,
Margaret, hows your book? Got to the chapter on tact yet?
She stopped herself.
These days, the scales are gathering dust on a high shelf. The cream? Well, truth be told, I did use iton my feet. Theyre softer now, so… thanks, I suppose. I even spotted the book at her house, on the bedside table. And you know what? Theres a bookmark in it, somewhere near the middle.
So yes, I think it worked.
