When Agnes’s mother-in-law moved in, Zelda refused to help out, saying she was just a “guest” in their home. Instead of kicking her out, Agnes got clever and gave her the full VIP treatment until she couldn’t take it anymore.
Agnes never expected her mother-in-law to be so tidy, but she also didn’t expect to become her personal maid.
When Hugo told Agnes his mom, Zelda, had sold her condo and needed a place to stay “for a bit,” Agnes hesitated. The last time they spent more than a weekend together, Zelda had criticized everything from Agnes’s cooking to how she folded towels.
“Just until she sorts things out,” Hugo promised, like that made it better.
“How long is ‘a bit’?” Agnes asked, already dreading the answer.
He shrugged. “A couple of weeks? Maybe a month?”
Agnes sighed, knowing she’d regret this. “Fine. But we need rules.”
“Absolutely,” Hugo agreed quickly, which was mistake number one—thinking he’d help enforce anything.
Zelda moved in the next weekend with three suitcases, a bunch of houseplants, and no respect for personal space.
At first, Agnes told herself it wouldn’t be so bad. Zelda unpacked, filled Agnes’s kitchen with fancy tea she never drank, and made snarky comments about how “young folks” leaned too much on microwaves instead of “real cooking.”
By the second week, it was clear Zelda wasn’t just a short-term guest. She was a full-time hassle.
She left dirty dishes on the table, saying she’d rinse them later, but later never came. Agnes’s bathroom mirror was always smudged with makeup and fingerprints, a daily sign that Zelda had no plans to clean up.
Laundry? Oh, she didn’t do her own. Instead, she tossed her clothes into Agnes’s hamper, as if Agnes was thrilled to wash Zelda’s sweatpants with her work shirts.
Agnes tried to be polite about it.
“Hey, Zelda, could you toss your towel in the hamper?”
Zelda gave Agnes a sweet, clueless smile. “Oh, dear, I’m just a guest! You wouldn’t ask a guest to do chores, would you?”
A guest. In the home Agnes paid for.
Meanwhile, Hugo was no help at all.
“She’s my mom, babe,” he said when Agnes vented. “Can’t we just let her be comfortable?”
Comfortable.
Zelda was living like a queen while Agnes ran around cleaning up after two adults.
Agnes swallowed her frustration and let it slide.
Until the coffee incident.
Saturday morning. Agnes’s one special day to sleep in, the only morning she could truly relax. Agnes shuffled into the kitchen, half-awake, craving the one thing that would make her feel human—her favorite coffee, the pricey kind she bought just for herself as a small treat.
And Zelda was there.
Zelda, sitting at Agnes’s table, sipping from Agnes’s favorite mug, drinking the last cup.
Agnes stared at her, trying to stay calm, but then her eyes landed on the sink. Three plates, a coffee mug, crumbs everywhere—a total mess left for Agnes to clean.
Agnes took a slow, deep breath. “Zelda, could you help with the dishes today?”
Zelda didn’t even look up.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Zelda said, waving a hand, “I’m sure you’ll handle it.”
Something inside Agnes snapped. But she didn’t yell. She didn’t argue.
She smiled.
Because in that moment, a brilliant idea formed in her head.
Zelda wanted to be treated like a guest? Fine. Agnes would treat her exactly like one.
For the next week, Agnes played the perfect host, smiling sweetly while carrying out her plan. She didn’t nag, didn’t complain, and stopped asking Zelda to clean up after herself. Instead, Agnes gave Zelda the full guest experience.
On Monday morning, Zelda woke up to a neatly printed menu on her nightstand. At the top, in fancy writing, it read:
“Welcome to the Family B&B! Please pick your free breakfast option.”
Below were three simple choices:
Cereal & Milk – Served in a nice ceramic bowl. Toast & Butter – Lightly toasted to perfection. Chef’s Surprise – A fun mix of last night’s leftovers.
Zelda walked into the kitchen, menu in hand, looking puzzled. “What’s this?”
“Just a little something I made,” Agnes said cheerfully. “I know you’re a guest, so I figured you shouldn’t have to fend for yourself in the mornings.”
Zelda frowned. “But where’s my omelet? You always make eggs on Mondays.”
Agnes gave her a sorry look. “Oh, sorry! The fancy breakfast package isn’t part of the free stay.” Agnes pointed to the counter. “Cereal or toast?”
Zelda huffed but took the cereal.
One small win for Agnes.
Zelda had a habit—she loved to watch YouTube and scroll Facebook late into the night, laughing at videos while everyone else tried to sleep. That’s when Agnes made her next move.
Tuesday night, around 11 p.m., Agnes turned off the WiFi router.
Not five minutes later, Zelda came storming out of her room. “Agnes! The internet’s down.”
“Oh, right,” Agnes said, hiding a yawn. “We have an automatic shutoff now. It’s part of our house security—keeps things safe and running smoothly.”
Zelda blinked. “That’s silly. I was watching a show.”
“Sorry, house rules! It’s back on at 7 a.m. Good night!”
Zelda muttered something but stomped back to her room.
By Wednesday, Agnes stepped it up. Every time she cleaned Zelda’s mess, Agnes left a laminated sign in the area:
“Housekeeping in Progress! Do Not Disturb!”
One on the bathroom mirror after wiping Zelda’s makeup smudges. Another in the kitchen after scrubbing Zelda’s dirty plates. One draped over the couch where Zelda left crumbs.
Zelda scowled every time she saw one. “What’s with these signs?”
“Just a reminder that housekeeping is part of any guest experience,” Agnes said with a smile.
Zelda’s eye twitched. Agnes almost felt bad. Almost.
By Thursday, Agnes stopped cooking dinner. Instead, she left a tidy stack of takeout menus in Zelda’s room.
That evening, Zelda stood in the kitchen, looking confused. “What’s for dinner?”
“Oh, I thought you might want to choose something yourself! Guests should have options,” Agnes said, handing her a menu. “There’s a great Chinese place nearby. Or pizza, if you’re in the mood.”
Zelda’s lips pursed. “But you always cook.”
Agnes shrugged. “Didn’t want to impose. Enjoy!”
Hugo, of course, just grabbed a menu and went along with it, clueless as ever.
Sunday morning, Zelda found an envelope on her dresser. Inside was a neatly written bill:
Laundry Services – $50
Maid Service – $30
Coffee & Breakfast Supply Fee – $20
Hotel Convenience Charge – $15
At the bottom, Agnes had written:
“Thank you for staying at the Family B&B! Please settle your balance by the end of your stay.”
Agnes was halfway through her first sip of coffee when she heard an angry gasp from down the hall. She knew this was going to be good.
Seconds later, Zelda stormed into the kitchen, waving the bill Agnes had left on her dresser. Her face was red, her lips pressed so tight they nearly vanished.
“What is this?” Zelda demanded, shaking the paper at Agnes like she’d been personally insulted.
Agnes took another slow sip of coffee. “Just a bill for your stay. Standard hospitality rates.”
Zelda’s eyes nearly popped out. “I’m not paying to live in my own son’s house!”
Agnes tilted her head. “Oh? I thought you were a guest? And guests don’t stay for free, Zelda.”
For a moment, Zelda was too stunned to speak. Then she turned to Hugo, who had just walked in, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Hugo,” Zelda sputtered, shoving the bill at him. “Your wife is trying to charge me for staying here!”
Hugo blinked at the paper, then at Agnes.
“Babe,” he said slowly, “is this real?”
Agnes smiled sweetly. “Of course not. I’m not actually charging her. I’m just following her logic. Guests don’t clean up after themselves, so they pay for service instead.”
Hugo looked between Agnes and his mother, realization hitting. Meanwhile, Zelda’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.
“This is ridiculous!” Zelda shrieked. “I don’t feel welcome here anymore!”
Agnes raised an eyebrow.
And then—oh, it was perfect—Zelda said it.
“I guess I’ll just find somewhere else to stay!”
Hugo hesitated, but Agnes shot him a look that said, Don’t you dare argue. He sighed, rubbing his face.
“Mom… maybe that’s for the best.”
And just like that, Zelda was gone within a week.
The house was peaceful again. No more dirty dishes left on the table. No more towels on Agnes’s furniture. No more waking up to snarky comments.
Hugo, finally free from his guilt, admitted, “Okay… maybe you had a point.”
And Agnes? She poured herself a fresh cup of her special coffee, stretched out on her guest-free couch, and savored her victory.
Zelda may have been too special to clean up after herself. But in the end?
She cleaned herself right out of Agnes’s house.
