“This is my son’s dacha—don’t invite your friends!” my mother-in-law ordered. I asked her to call her own guests.

— This is my son’s country house, so you’d better cancel your girlfriends coming over. They’re not welcome here at all.
Nina Arkadyevna set down two massive grocery bags from a budget supermarket onto the freshly cleaned countertop with a heavy thud. A giant beef bone stuck ominously out of one bag, and a murky droplet splattered onto the spotless tiles below.
— Tomorrow for lunch, Aunt Galya will arrive with her husband, nephew Kostik with his young wife and their three kids, and Aunt Raya from Voronezh. You’ll be cooking. Here’s the menu.
I carefully set aside the damp dish sponge. Nina Arkadyevna, a robust, domineering woman who was used to taking up all the space, stood in the middle of the kitchen looking like she was personally handing out awards to all of humanity. She spent fifteen years running a factory canteen—and that experience left a permanent mark on her attitude. To her, the world was divided into bosses to be flattered and lazy kitchen staff to be yelled at. From the very first day, she had confidently assigned me to the latter group.
My mother-in-law began unloading her treasures onto the table: three limp heads of cabbage, a bag of suspiciously soft carrots, five packs of the cheapest gray macaroni, and an enormous slab of fatty, sinewy pork fat.
— What an interesting start to my long-awaited vacation.
I glanced at the uninvited guest.
— Nina Arkadyevna, Alexei and I have been planning these ten days for half a year. Tomorrow, my school friends Zhanna and Lera are coming here. We wanted to drink wine, grill fish, eat farmer’s cheese, and look at the pines.
— Your friends will survive!
My mother-in-law pulled a battered composition notebook from the depths of her bag and waved it in the air.
— I’ve already made all the arrangements and told everyone. The relatives are coming from far away; they want to spend time in nature. Your job is to make sure the reception is top-notch. Write down the shopping list, Lesha will go pick everything up from the market this evening. Now, for the first course—borsch. Take the 10-liter pot; it’s in the pantry under the stairs. Soak the bone overnight, there’ll be enough broth for a whole platoon if you add enough potatoes. For the main, stuffed cabbage rolls. Kostik won’t eat store-bought ground meat—it gives him heartburn—so you’ll have to grind it yourself, twice, so it’s nice and tender.
She flipped a page in her culinary bible, moistening her finger with businesslike precision.
— Grate the carrots on the finest grater. Aunt Galya loves pies with cabbage and egg. Start the dough at five in the morning so it’ll be perfectly risen and fluffy by the time they arrive. Make a compote from dried fruit—but strain it well, Kostik’s kids can’t chew berries! And bake lots of pancakes, about a hundred, the nephews love them with condensed milk. Make aspic and roast a pork shank.
As I listened to this culinary sentence, a crystal-clear, icy joy bubbled inside me. After twenty years working at the front desk of a big Moscow hotel, I was prepared for any quirk in human nature. I’d seen troublemakers, drunken brawlers, people insisting on bringing a live pony into a standard room, and guests expecting a view of the Eiffel Tower in downtown Ryazan. Nothing could possibly throw me off with sheer nerve.
— Nina Arkadyevna.
I said each word slowly and clearly, making sure every syllable counted.
“It seems like you’ve mistaken our summer house for a Turkish all-inclusive resort. And forgot to hire a team of chefs.”
“What chefs are you talking about?”
She protested sincerely, planting her hands firmly on her immense hips.
“Are you my daughter-in-law or what? Your main duty is to pamper your husband’s family! And don’t forget, you’re in my son’s house! I have every right to gather my family here!”
That ‘my son’s house’ song was her favorite hit, one she performed at every family gathering. The reality that we bought the land together while married, split everything evenly, built the house with my quarterly bonus and the proceeds from my pre-marriage car—Nina Arkadyevna skillfully ignored all of it. In her worldview, her son was the great provider and I was just some random freeloader graciously allowed to breathe fresh air on these elite acres.
“This is our summer house—both of ours.”
I kept my voice calm and steady, never raising it.
“And this vacation, it’s closed to everyone except the guests we invited. So please, grab your phone and call Aunt Galya, Kostik, and the Voronezh relatives.”
“And what am I supposed to tell them?!”
My mother-in-law wailed so loudly, the window panes seemed to rattle.
“They’ve already bought their train tickets! Kostik filled up his gas tank!”
“Just tell them the plain truth. Say you invited them onto someone else’s property without asking the owners, and the owners are completely against it. Or, if it’s too embarrassing to admit your overstepping to the family, tell them we had a sewage backup and the yard is flooded with waste. Pick whichever story is more convenient for you.”
Nina Arkadyevna jingled her keys indignantly inside the pocket of her colorful sweater. She was used to me smoothing things over at the start of our marriage, staying silent and enduring her attacks in the name of some mythical family peace. But those days are long gone, even if her strategy hasn’t changed a bit.
“Oh, you ungrateful thing!”
She gasped dramatically and clutched the collar of her blouse.
“I came to visit my own son! On his rightful land! He’ll be here soon enough, and we’ll see whose guests stay! My son won’t let anyone treat his mother this way!”
She yanked her smartphone from her purse and started furiously poking the screen with her garishly magenta-tipped nails.
“Hello! Lyosha!”
She yelled into the phone, putting it on speaker so I could fully enjoy my impending defeat.
“Son, drop everything and get here now! Your wife has lost her mind! She’s kicking me out of the house!”
My husband’s voice sounded calm, a little tired, in the background there was the noise of cash registers and loudspeaker announcements.
“Hi Mom. What happened? No one’s kicking you out.”
“It’s your Irina!”
My mother-in-law poured as much dramatic distress into her voice as she could.
“I arrived with bags full of groceries for everyone, I told her our whole family is coming tomorrow, and she refuses to welcome them! Says her girlfriends are more important than family! Lyosha, say something! Put her in her place! This is your house! You’re the man of the house!”
From the phone speaker, I could hear the rustling of grocery bags. Nina Arkadyevna shot me a triumphant look, fully expecting her husband to order me to start peeling potatoes for the whole army of unexpected guests.
“Mom.”
Aleksey’s voice turned cold and sharp as steel. Not a hint of hesitation.
“Ira and I discussed this a month ago. We’re planning to spend our vacation with just the four of us: me, Ira, Zhanna, and Lera. I explained this to you two weeks ago: no extra guests. No relatives, no loud parties. Did you not hear me?”
“Lyosha, my son…”
Suddenly, my mother-in-law’s tone lost all its commanding force.
“How could you… It’s Aunt Galya! She used to knit you socks when you were just a little boy… And Kostik… They’ll be so hurt! I already promised everyone we’d gather at your big country house for a barbecue! I’m your mother, I stayed up all night for you — don’t I deserve a holiday?”
“Mom, let’s not turn this into a drama club.”
Aleksey sighed.
“I never gave you the right to make decisions about our house and our time. I just bought excellent lamb for my friends, paid for the charcoal, and I plan to simply sleep in the hammock. If you wanted to gather the whole family and show off the house, you should have asked us first. You tried to go behind our backs and do it your own way. Now, this is just your problem.”
“So what am I supposed to do now?!”
She moved her hand away from her collar.
“They’re coming tomorrow morning!”
“Host them in your apartment in the city. Sure, it’s cramped, but close quarters never broke up a party. Ira is absolutely right. Nobody is going to cook for ten people during her hard-earned vacation. And I’m not about to work for free as the grill master and firewood guy for Kostik either.”
“Lyosha, you’re henpecked!”
Nina Arkadyevna spat the words into the microphone with venom.
“She controls you however she wants, and you’re happy to go along! Kicking your own mother out so some strange women can take her place!”
“No one is kicking you out. I’m just stating a fact: tomorrow, it’ll be only our friends here. You have a day to figure out where to put your guests in your apartment. That’s it. I need to get to the register. I’ll be home soon.”
The call ended. Nina Arkadyevna gripped her phone so hard the plastic case squeaked. Her trump card—’my son’s house’—had just been trumped by her son himself. But giving up wasn’t in her nature. If pushing directly didn’t work, she always switched to relentless haggling.
She exhaled loudly, straightened her colorful cardigan, and gave me that special, entitled look of someone who truly believes everyone owes her respect simply because of her age.
“Fine.”
She forced the word out through gritted teeth.
“Now Lyoshka only dances to your tune. Whatever. Let’s make a deal. I’ve already told everyone we’re going to the country — I won’t embarrass myself in front of Raya. She already thinks we’re counting pennies. Here’s the plan: your girls can come, but they’ll have to stay in the shed.”
“The shed is where we keep rakes, the lawnmower, and buckets of old paint.”
— It’s fine! We’ll just clear a small spot and toss down some sleeping bags, we’re not royalty after all. You can give your bedroom to Aunt Galya—her back is bad, she needs your good mattress. Kostya and the kids can crash on the sofa in the living room, and you and Lyoshka can rough it on the veranda! There are some great chairs out there—just push two together, throw a blanket over, and voilà, you’ve got yourselves a luxurious bed in the fresh air.
I stared at her with genuine, almost scientific admiration. She had just been directly told ‘no’ by the homeowner, yet her mind kept expertly redesigning someone else’s space to fit her own needs. She really thought she was doing me a huge favor by letting me sleep on my own chairs.
— And who’s going to cook for all these people?
I only asked to see how bottomless her nerve really was.
— Well, since your friends are coming, they should help out too!
My mother-in-law perked up, feeling like I was actually interested in the details.
— One can peel potatoes, another can wash the dishes after everyone. You’ll be on the stove making hot meals. I’ll supervise from the chair, just to make sure you don’t waste the ingredients. Come on, agree to it!
— Nina Arkadyevna. There’s no negotiation. There will be no Aunt Galya on my mattress. No Kostya on my sofa. And absolutely no directing my friends. Right now, you’re going to take your bags, walk to the station, get on the train, and head back to the city. Go greet the guests you promised the world to.
— How dare you! I’m not going anywhere! I’ll sit right here on the porch and stay put! Let’s see how you try to kick me out when Lyosha arrives!
She really did grab her bags, stomped out onto the wooden steps, and dramatically plunked herself down in my favorite wicker chair. Her pose was the picture of martyrdom, a total readiness to suffer for truth to the bitter end.
Just then, a car blared its horn by the gate. A bright yellow crossover rolled into the yard with a cheerful screech. Out hopped Zhanna and Lera. Zhanna, pure party energy with a wild mass of red curls, was carrying a cardboard box. Lera, tall and serious, was clutching a kraft paper bag with bottles and fresh greens poking out.
— Hosts, your vacationers have arrived!
Zhanna waved enthusiastically with her free hand.
— We brought blue cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, and the firm intention to do absolutely nothing useful for the next three days!
They climbed the steps and came face-to-face with Nina Arkadyevna. My mother-in-law was sitting in her chair, radiating an air of deeply wounded virtue.
— Oh, hello! We thought Irka was playing hostess alone. Are you the new neighbor?
— I am Alexey’s mother!
My mother-in-law pronounced each word loudly and with great pride.
— And I’m not leaving—this is my son’s house!
Lera, who worked as the chief sanitary doctor in the district and was used to dealing with the most stubborn rule-breakers in dodgy markets and questionable restaurants, slowly ran a professional, x-ray-like gaze over Nina Arkadyevna.
— Nice to meet you. But why are you sitting out in the heat with raw meat? Were you booted from the kitchen for breaking food safety rules?
— What?! What rules?!
— Oh, come on now.
Lera pointed her perfectly manicured finger at the grocery bags, where a forlorn piece of beef peeked out, pressed tightly against an unwashed cabbage.
“Raw meat is sitting right up against dirty vegetables at street temperature. Are you planning to spark a mass intestinal outbreak here? Are you trying to send someone to the afterlife, ma’am? And do you have a valid health certificate for handling food?”
Zhanna stifled her laughter into her fist, hiding behind a box of cheese. Nina Arkadyevna, used to having young cooks tremble before her in her canteen, suddenly found herself facing someone who spoke to her with the commanding, icy tone of a real inspector.
“How dare you! I’ve managed a cafeteria for fifteen years! Not a single complaint in the feedback book!”
“All the more strange to see such blatant negligence from an experienced food service worker. Irochka, darling, where do you keep your glasses? I’m terribly thirsty and dying for some cold water.”
Nina Arkadyevna realized she’d lost this battle completely. These women had no intention of peeling her potatoes; in fact, they didn’t see her as the boss at all. But her pride wouldn’t let her just grab the bags and leave.
Just then, Lyosha pulled up to the gate. He got out of the car and took two sacks of charcoal out of the trunk.
“Son! Kick these loudmouths out! They’re making fun of me! They’re lecturing me about hygiene and how to live my life!”
Alexey set the sacks on the ground and pulled out his phone to check the car’s license plate.
“Mom. I called you a taxi. It’s already waiting outside the gate—blue sedan. The ride to your house is fully paid for. Head home, get ready for your guests. That’s the right thing to do.”
“You’re kicking me out?! Because of these… these…”
She couldn’t find the right insult.
“I’m saving you from a huge embarrassment.”
Her husband looked at her with not a speck of mockery, but with unwavering firmness.
“Your guests are arriving tomorrow morning. Your apartment is completely empty right now. You need to buy proper groceries, dust, and prepare the sleeping areas. If you stay here arguing, Aunt Galya will show up to a locked door tomorrow. Is that what you want? Let this experience be a lesson for next time, when you’re planning other people’s schedules.”
That argument struck home. Losing face in front of her Voronezh relatives was the worst thing Nina Arkadyevna could imagine. She’d been bragging about her incredible success to them for years.
She spun around abruptly, grabbed the bags with the questionable meat, and stomped toward the gate in her heels. At the gate, she turned around.
“You’ll regret this! I won’t forgive such disrespect! Don’t expect any help from me!”
“We’ll be sure to submit your statement in writing for consideration!”
Zhanna cheerfully called after her.
The taxi drove off, taking with it the storm cloud that had been hovering over our vacation. We settled comfortably under the canopy; Lyosha lit the grill, and the girls sliced cheese. The evening promised to be wonderful.
But the most interesting part began the next day.
I wasn’t planning to spy, but in this age of messaging apps and chatty relatives, it’s impossible to keep the scale of the disaster a secret. The main informant was Aleksey’s cousin Marina, who lived in the same city and had been invited by Nina Arkadyevna to the country banquet. Luckily, she wisely declined, citing urgent work.
Marina called me every evening, struggling not to burst out laughing, with hot-off-the-press updates straight from the epicenter.
The first serious blow came to Nina Arkadyevna on Saturday morning at the train station. A real crowd poured out of the carriage. It turned out Kostik had not only brought his wife and three kids, but also his mother-in-law, Klavdia Ivanovna.
“Well, there’s plenty of space at the dacha, let the old lady get some fresh air too!” declared the nephew cheerfully, handing his speechless mother-in-law a heavy suitcase.
So, instead of the six people planned, Nina Arkadyevna found herself hosting nine.
When this nomadic entourage, bags in tow, poured into her standard two-bedroom city apartment, the illusion of a luxurious reception popped like a cheap soap bubble. Aunt Galya, who expected pine trees, bird songs, and a hammock, eyed the cramped hallway, cluttered with old shoes, with barely disguised disdain.
“Nina dear, aren’t we supposed to be going to the country house?”
The question rang out from Aunt Galya’s husband, Uncle Vitya—a notorious jokester and fan of drinking away from home. In his hands, he held a leash attached to a scruffy spaniel named Graf, who immediately started chewing on a house slipper.
“I even brought my fishing rods, was hoping to catch some carp! Got a jug of homemade liqueur stashed, and my guitar in its case!”
Desperately trying to keep up a facade of former grandeur, Nina Arkadyevna announced that the well pump at the dacha had suddenly broken down, leaving not a drop of water. So she had bravely decided to rescue her family from unsanitary conditions and host them in the city—where all the modern conveniences awaited.
The relatives were visibly disappointed, Uncle Vitya sadly pushed his fishing rods into the corner of the hallway, but there was no choice. And so began the torturous process of settling everyone in.
The comfortable mattress promised to Aunt Galya materialized as an old, saggy couch in the living room. She lasted exactly one night on it before staging a full-on mutiny the next morning. She proclaimed her precious spine was worth more than the whole apartment and demanded to move to Nina Arkadyevna’s real bed. The mother-in-law had no choice but to give in, relocating herself to a creaky canvas cot right in the kitchen, her feet propped up against the bottom shelf of the fridge.
By the evening of the second day, a gaping financial hole was revealed. It’s one thing to feed nine people at a dacha—with a grill, homegrown veggies from the garden, and cheap navy-style pasta passed off as rustic cuisine. But it’s a whole different story to feed a hoard of adults and three perpetually hungry kids in a stuffy city apartment, where everyone expects something special.
Kostik’s kids turned out to be a real force of nature! On the very first day, they shattered Nina Arkadyevna’s favorite crystal salad bowl, discovered her expensive anti-aging serum, and generously smeared it over the squeaky hinges in the hallway. Whenever her timid mother-in-law tried to say anything about it, Kostik’s wife lazily replied:
“Oh, Nina Arkadyevna, they’re just kids! They need to develop their motor skills. If we were at the dacha, they’d be running wild out in the garden letting off steam, but in these four walls, they’re cramped and that’s why they’re acting up. Please bear with us, we’re family after all.”
Kostik’s mother-in-law, Klavdia Ivanovna, turned out to be incredibly demanding. She announced that she was intolerant to gluten, lactose, and bad vibes.
“Ninochka, I can’t eat anything fried, my pancreas is weak. Please steam some farmer’s broccoli for me. And I only drink alkaline water, from glass bottles!”
And then there was Uncle Vitya, who turned Nina Arkadyevna’s life into a personal disaster zone by insisting on constant feasts.
“Nina, where’s the pepper vodka?”
He boomed his requests throughout the apartment from early morning.
“With your borscht, it would be a shame not to have a drink! Come on, bring out the shot glasses, let’s toast to our arrival! And slice up some proper dry-cured sausage, not that toilet paper on sale!”
Nina Arkadyevna had to haul heavy bags from the nearest market, exhausting herself. She cooked soup in bucket-sized pots and fried cutlets by the dozen, while her guests lounged on the sofas. Meanwhile, Graf the spaniel was constantly underfoot, stealing sausage from the table.
On the third day, Kostik’s kids decided to go fishing in the bathtub. They filled it to the brim, tossed in Uncle Vitya’s fishing rods, and accidentally broke the faucet. Water poured all over the floor.
Uncle Vitya jumped in to show off his plumbing skills, but made things worse by stripping the threads completely. In no time, water flooded the bathroom up to the doorstep. That very night, the downstairs neighbors called the police. Uncle Vitya, happily tipsy from his stash of homemade liqueur, pulled out his guitar at 2 a.m. and took to the stairwell for a rousing concert of drinking songs, to the delight (or dismay) of the whole apartment block. The police paid them a strict visit, and Nina Arkadyevna received an official warning for disturbing the peace.
continued in the comments
After this incident, Nina Arkadyevna’s nerves finally gave out. She demanded that Kostik, his family, and musical Uncle Vitya move out at once. But they had no return tickets, nor had they brought any money for a rental. So, Nina Arkadyevna—cursing everything under the sun and weeping with stinginess—ended up using her own savings to pay for a cheap hostel on the city outskirts for the remaining four days, just so she wouldn’t have to hear the constant guitar racket or see her ruined belongings.
But her suffering didn’t end there. Left behind, Aunt Galya and the demanding Klavdia Ivanovna now wanted a packed cultural program. If they couldn’t enjoy the countryside, they decided, they needed active entertainment in the city instead.
Poor Nina Arkadyevna, who was used to everyone catering only to her, ended up as a free tour guide, cook, and laundry maid. She took them through city parks because there was absolutely no money left for museums or cafés. She spent five hours a day in a cramped, hot kitchen, cooking up diet-friendly dishes for Klavdia Ivanovna and hearty dinners for Aunt Galya.
By the end of the week, according to Marina, Nina Arkadyevna looked like she’d unloaded a truck full of potatoes all by herself. She had lost a lot of weight, looked haggard, and stopped answering calls from her friends. Her legendary hospitality, built on impressing others at our dacha, completely drained her energy and emptied her wallet. She spent half her pension and all her savings set aside for a new washing machine just on hosting and entertaining this rowdy family.
Meanwhile, we spent a perfect ten days at the dacha.
Zhanna organized cheese tasting evenings, Lera kept us laughing with endless funny stories from her job at the health department, and Lesha grilled the best meat and took plenty of naps in the hammock. No one hovered over us, no one ordered us how many times to grind the meat, and no one tried to claim my favorite sleeping mat.
On the last night of vacation, sitting on the veranda with a glass of dry red wine, I watched the sunset shining through the pine branches. Lesha came over and put his arm around my shoulders.
“This is so nice.” “Perfect. You know, I think next year we won’t invite any distant relatives either. We’re having such a great time as it is.” “Agreed. And Mom… I don’t think she’ll want to gather the family again. I heard that after Aunt Galya left, she spent two days just lying on the couch watching TV with the sound off. I hope this tough lesson does her good, and I think we’ll forgive her for this incident.”