Generosity has an incredible way of bringing families together,” my sister-in-law declared as she casually shoved my cutting board toward the very edge of the countertop as though she owned the place. “I’ve decided to gather the whole family under your roof. It’s going to be a grand banquet!”
I stopped chopping sweet pepper for the salad and froze.
Natalia had settled herself at my kitchen table in the pose of a strict inspector, except that instead of a folder full of reports, I could almost imagine a ladle towering in front of her.
My ladle.
She adjusted her hair and brushed an imaginary speck of dust from the tablecloth.
“What an unexpected initiative,” I replied calmly, transferring the chopped vegetables into a deep bowl. “And what exactly are we celebrating?”
“Nothing in particular! Family ties need to be maintained! I’ve already called everyone, so expect them by dinner. Aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews—absolutely everyone is coming.”
As a merchandise specialist with many years of experience, I was used to surprise inventories and hunting down shortages. But now someone was brazenly trying to write off my personal weekend, the contents of my refrigerator, and my nervous system as operating expenses.
Some people consider themselves great philanthropists simply because they have mastered the art of giving away other people’s resources.
“So here’s what you’ll do,” Natalia said, leaning against the table and pulling the salt shaker closer to herself. “For the main course, make French-style baked meat. Everyone loves it. Chop up several different salads, put together some appetizers, and bake your signature pie. I didn’t buy any groceries—you always keep your kitchen fully stocked anyway.”
“Natalia,” I said, carefully moving the cutting board with the herbs away from me. “You invited guests. To my apartment. To eat my food. And I’m supposed to cook everything too?”
“Well, you’re the hostess!” my sister-in-law exclaimed with such genuine indignation that you might have thought I had refused to pay her a bonus out of my own pocket.
She threw her hands up dramatically.
“What, are you really going to begrudge your own relatives a piece of meat? A woman is supposed to create a warm home, not haggle over everything!”
With that, she spun around proudly and marched into the hallway, her heels clicking loudly against the floor. A moment later, the front door slammed behind her.
Apparently, she had gone to make herself beautiful before the guests arrived.
I looked at the half-cut vegetables.
Then at the heavy-bottomed frying pan.
It was remarkable: the broader someone else’s generous soul became, the more firmly it tried to squeeze itself into your wallet.
I walked over to the stove.
My hand rested on the switch.
A soft click—and the burner went out.
The free catering operation had been shut down before it even had a chance to begin.
The best way to stop someone else’s festival of extraordinary generosity is to cut off access to your budget in time.
Not long afterward, Oleg came home from work.
My husband had one rare and valuable quality: he understood perfectly where the whims of his relatives ended and the interests of our own family began.
He washed his hands, changed into comfortable clothes, and came into the kitchen, peering curiously into an empty saucepan.
“What smells so good?” he asked, sniffing the air. Then he frowned. “Actually… why doesn’t anything smell? Are we having a fasting day?”
“We’re having a day of extraordinary charity,” I informed him, placing hot sandwiches topped with melted cheese and slices of juicy ham onto a plate in front of him. “Your sister has decided to become a philanthropist. She invited your entire family clan here for dinner.”
Oleg raised his eyebrows in surprise and put his sandwich back on the plate.
“And why didn’t anyone tell us?”
“Oh, we were informed. We’ve been granted the tremendous honor of paying for everything, cooking everything, and serving everything.”
My husband thoughtfully bit into his crisp bread and cheese.
“So what’s the plan? Barricade the door with the sofa?”
“Why?” I asked serenely, pouring him some fruit drink. “The apartment is open. There’s plenty of space. Let them come.”
By evening, the hallway filled with noise—the rustling of coats being removed, shoes tapping against the floor, and cheerful greetings.
Natalia marched into the apartment ahead of everyone else like a lottery winner who had somehow hit the jackpot using someone else’s money.
She began giving instructions about where to hang coats and sent the older women off to wash their hands.
The relatives poured into the living room in a noisy crowd.
And then complete confusion descended.
Everyone gathered around the furniture and exchanged puzzled looks.
The large dining table was completely empty.
No tablecloth.
No plates of sliced appetizers.
Nothing.
Only a lonely wooden napkin holder stood in the center like an unwanted item forgotten in a shop display.
Natalia froze.
All of her confidence as the organizer of the grand celebration disappeared instantly.
Her broad welcoming gesture remained suspended in midair like a broken barrier gate.
She blinked several times, staring at the bare polished tabletop.
“Ira…” she hissed indignantly, rushing into the kitchen, where I was calmly wiping an already spotless countertop with a damp sponge. “Where is everything?! These people have traveled all this way! Where’s the food?”
“What food?” I asked, raising my eyebrows in surprise while rinsing the sponge under the faucet.
“The festive food! I told you guests were coming!”
“That’s right,” I said with a nod, drying the countertop. “You told me that you invited guests. I provided the venue. The lights are on, the chairs are here, and there are no drafts. Where are your refreshments? You’re the one who organized the banquet.”
“Me?! But I… You…” My sister-in-law waved her arms as though someone had just snatched her salary out from under her nose. “I thought you were going to set the table! It’s your responsibility!”
“My responsibility is to assess the quality of merchandise in the warehouse,” I replied calmly. “Financing your sudden attacks of hospitality is not included in my job description. Where is all that hospitality of yours, Natasha? In the same place as your groceries—in your imagination.”
Natalia immediately rushed toward her brother, who had just entered the kitchen to get a glass of water.
“Oleg! Look at what your wife is doing! She’s humiliating us in front of the whole family! She’s leaving our relatives hungry!”
Oleg calmly sat down on a kitchen stool and folded his arms across his chest.
“Natash, did you invite these people?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ask us first?”
“No.”
“Then solve the problem yourself. Ira and I have provided the venue completely free of charge. You may now begin delighting the relatives.”
A timid voice came from the living room.
“Natasha, dear, are we going to sit down at the table?”
The situation had become critical.
Natalia could not admit to the family that her famous generosity was nothing but hot air. Her enormous pride simply would not allow it.
She fussily adjusted her hair and nervously tugged at the strap of her handbag.
“I can recommend an excellent delivery service,” I offered helpfully, handing her my smartphone with the app of an expensive restaurant already open. “They offer express delivery of banquet sets. They’ll bring everything within forty minutes—grilled meat, gourmet appetizers, side dishes. Exactly what you promised everyone.”
Natalia stared at the total amount in the shopping cart as though she had just been issued a fine for damaging government property.
Her fingers trembled above the screen.
Her everyday stinginess was fighting desperately against her vanity, and vanity—encouraged by the hungry coughing coming from the living room—was very slowly winning.
She placed the order.
Every tap on the screen seemed to cause visible pain in her eyes.
For the next forty minutes, the hungry relatives passed the time politely staring at the empty tabletop.
Natalia tried to entertain the older women with conversations about the weather and gardening, but every discussion repeatedly collapsed into uncomfortable silence.
When the courier finally arrived carrying huge insulated delivery bags, the moment of truth had come.
The beep of the bank card terminal during payment sounded to Natalia like the final note of a funeral march for her personal savings.
I stood nearby and watched her bank balance shrink before my eyes.
The dinner turned out to be quite something.
The relatives eagerly devoured juicy lamb kebabs and fragrant salads straight from foil containers, praising the organizer’s extraordinary generosity.
Crispy eggplant with tomatoes disappeared almost instantly.
Natalia sat at the head of the table with an unnaturally straight back, mechanically chewing a piece of grilled meat.
Judging by her expression, that single bite might as well have cost the same as a gold bar.
There was no trace left of her commanding tone.
Only the grim accounting of financial losses remained on her face.
“Natasha, what a fantastic evening!” I said, elegantly spearing a slice of eggplant in sweet-and-sour sauce with my fork. “You’re so generous! Ordering such a luxurious dinner for everyone! You’re a true philanthropist of the family.”
Oleg quickly pretended to become deeply interested in the contents of his container of fluffy pilaf sprinkled generously with pomegranate seeds.
The relatives nodded enthusiastically while continuing to eat the expensive delicacies.
My sister-in-law pursed her lips, forced herself to swallow her food, and managed a dry:
“You’re welcome.”
There was absolutely nothing else she could say.
When the guests finally left, full and extremely pleased with the evening, Natalia hurried to leave with them.
She pulled on her jacket without even attempting to pack up any of the luxurious leftovers.
She simply shot into the hallway, tossed out a brief goodbye, and slammed the front door behind her.
Oleg and I were left alone.
The apartment was filled with the rich aroma of charcoal-grilled meat and an expensive restaurant bill.
I calmly gathered the empty plastic containers, swept the crumbs into the trash, and returned the wooden napkin holder to its usual place.
My kitchen remained clean.
My wallet remained untouched.
And my sister-in-law received a priceless master class in the fundamentals of market economics:
If you enjoy appearing generous at someone else’s expense, you should also learn to enjoy paying the bill yourself.
Generosity really does bring families together.
Especially when the person shouting most loudly about generosity is the one paying for it.
One piece of advice, just in case: if someone tries to force a kitchen apron onto you against your will, don’t waste your time arguing.
Simply show them where the menu of an expensive restaurant is and remind them that the finest expression of love for one’s relatives is one hundred percent advance payment.