Linda had no idea what she’d just agreed to.
Marcus can help.
***
The following Saturday, Linda arrived wearing pearls.
“Are those practical?” I asked.
“Elegance is always practical.”
Marcus arrived behind her carrying coffee. “Ready for Mom to prove you wrong?”
“Absolutely. Ready to discover where our oven lives?”
Linda had no idea what she’d just agreed to.
“Very funny.”
“I announced our workshop to the club members,” Linda said..
“As a challenge?”
“A lesson in traditional family values.”
“Wonderful. Ready for your audience?”
Ready for Mom to prove you wrong?
“Of course.”
I started the livestream.
Dozens joined.
Linda waved. “Hello, ladies! Today we’ll demonstrate that maintaining a beautiful home isn’t complicated.”
“Perfect,” I said. “Let’s begin with your famous lasagna.”
A lesson in traditional family values.
Her smile stiffened. “My lasagna?”
“The one you posted last month. Everyone loved the photograph.”
“Of course.”
I gestured toward the ingredients. “Everything’s ready.”
Linda picked up a packet of flour. “First, we prepare the sauce.”
Let’s begin with your famous lasagna.
“Wonderful.”
She poured milk into a cold saucepan.
I watched silently.
Marcus leaned closer. “Shouldn’t something be heating?”
“Don’t interrupt your mother,” I said.
We prepare the sauce.
Linda grabbed butter. “How much flour did you provide?”
“As much as you requested.”
“Well, what’s the correct amount?”
“That’s what we’re learning.”
She reached for her phone. “Just checking something.”
Don’t interrupt your mother.
“Recipes aren’t allowed during the challenge.”
“I know my own recipe!”
The comment section exploded.
Patricia, one of the club’s organizers: Linda, didn’t you call this your signature dish?
Linda stirred furiously. “Obviously, I haven’t made it recently.”
Marcus opened the oven. “Mom, what temperature?”
Just checking something.
“Normal temperature.”
“What’s normal?”
“Hot, Marcus!”
I covered my mouth.
Someone commented: “MOMMY’S LITTLE HELPER,” but Mommy might need a new helper.
Another wrote: Even the sauce is trying to escape this disaster.
I haven’t made it recently.
The mixture developed lumps large enough to qualify as furniture.
Linda glared at me. “Your ingredients are defective.”
“Would you like to explain that to the flour?”
“Mom, the sauce is burning!”
“Lower the heat!”
Even the sauce is trying to escape.
“Which way?”
“Marcus, the other way!”
Smoke rose from the pan.
“You ruined it!” Linda snapped.
“You told me to turn it!”
Your ingredients are defective.
“Because you’re distracting me!”
I stepped forward.
“Let’s move on. We have another lesson.”
Linda thought the worst was over.
But the livestream had attracted exactly the wrong kind of attention.
You ruined it!
The next station was our laundry room.
I placed Marcus’s wrinkled shirts beside an ironing board. “Please demonstrate proper ironing and folding.”
Linda inspected the iron. “This model is terribly outdated.”
“We bought it last year.”
She pressed the collar. A sharp hiss followed.
Linda thought the worst was over.
“Mother, that’s steaming!”
“It’s supposed to!”
She lifted the iron. A shiny patch decorated the shirt.
Marcus stared. “That’s my favorite.”
“Then perhaps you should learn to iron it,” I suggested.
This model is terribly outdated.
Marcus attempted folding a fitted sheet and produced something resembling an injured jellyfish.
A viewer commented: Is that a sheet or a hostage?
Linda threw down the iron. “This is ridiculous! I’m not your maid!”
I raised an eyebrow. “But yesterday you said my husband’s socks needed ironing.”
“That’s different!”
That’s my favorite.
“How?”
“Because it’s beneath me!”
The comments exploded.
Bob: Beneath you?
Patricia: But not beneath Sarah?
I’m not your maid!
Marcus glanced at the screen. “Maybe we should stop.”
“Finally, something sensible!” Linda reached for the phone. “This workshop is over.”
Before she could end the livestream, Patricia commented:
Linda, you promised us a complete demonstration. What about the final task?
But not beneath Sarah?
Linda froze. “Patricia, surely you’ve seen enough!”
Patricia: Actually, I’d like to see what you’ve been teaching us to do.
“So would I.”
Linda folded her arms. “Fine. What’s next?”
I opened the bathroom door.
And this wasn’t even the best part of my revenge.
What about the final task?
Inside waited gloves, cleaning products, brushes, and an ordinary toilet.
Linda recoiled. “Absolutely not.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You expect me to clean that?”
“Only if you’d like to demonstrate.”
This wasn’t even the best part of my revenge.
“On camera?”
“Yes.”
“That’s disgusting!”