My prospective MIL offered me 10 commandments to be the “perfect” bride for her son. I smiled, nodded, and followed each one. Not what she expected.
Always a regular woman with ordinary needs. Nothing flashy. My goals were to work, have some hobbies, travel, and start a family.
I lived life and enjoyed what I had, not grand bliss.
Until Dylan arrived.
Friends talked about him like he was in a fancy shower gel commercial.
“He always backs everyone!”
“He always wears clean suits.”
“He always opens the door for ladies. Never!”
I smiled politely, doubting such men existed outside romcoms. The first time Dylan touched my hand—I understood.
My life felt cinematic with Dylan. A bit too good. I grew with him, dreaming larger and smiling more. I started cooking joyfully.
We moved in soon, but curiously, household life didn’t kill the magic. If anything, it strengthened it. The toothbrush next to mine and supermarket runs made me fall harder.
Everything was effortless. Perfectionism didn’t intimidate me. It reminded me how easy honest love can be.
That night, we ate at our favorite trattoria. Dylan seemed distinct. Fidgety.
You okay?When we got outdoors, I inquired quietly, smiling.
Nodding, he abruptly… He kneeled. Street center. A little package with a proposal ring.
“I knew it from the moment you said pesto was overrated,” he remarked. “I realized I want to wake up with you, even when you’re upset with me for forgetting oat milk at home. You’re my heart. Will you marry me?”
Chest part melted totally.
“Yes, of course.”
He put the ring on my finger. The tables surrounding us applauded. It was perfect.
The next day, Dylan said,
I suggest you meet my mom. Be prepared to love her…
The slightest wobble in our story occurred then. It makes you question if the ideal story is about to change.
***
We planned the vacation quickly. Dylan was too excited to inform his mom. The next morning, Saturday, we packed an overnight bag and drove to his parents’ rural home.
Dylan drove while humming an 80s music while I considered my attire.
“Just wait till you try her lemon tart. Mom’s a legend in the kitchen. And she’s so excited to meet you.”
Nervously, I laughed. “Sounds… charming?”
“She’s amazing. You’ll see.”
After 30 minutes, the front door opened without a knock.
“Diiiiilan!” a melodic voice said, and she appeared. Elen.
She wore a satin shirt with a toddler-sized bow and matching slacks in baby pink.
“And you must be the darling girl!” she exclaimed, hugging me.
Elen smelt like baby powder and roses. I sneezed quietly into her shoulder. She coughed after inhaling my perfume’s delicate trail.
“Oh my,” she winced politely. “Is that… jasmine?”
Already regretting nodding.
“Lovely… if one can tolerate it. Tee-hee!”
We share a scent allergy within seconds of our first hug. Coincidence? Unlikely.
Slapping Dylan’s arm, Elen laughed, “Look at those cheeks! You are real!” “She’s prettier than your last girlfriend.”
“Mom…” Dylan laughed, evidently captivated.
As we proceeded through the garden toward the home, I admired the rose bushes until I saw something. unexpected.
Ironically positioned between two porcelain bunnies is a little bronze statue. Elen noticed. Of course she did.
“That’s my little Cupid,” she said.
The poor animal had chipped wings, a damaged face, and an expression.
“I found it in a darling little antique shop upstate,” she said. “Of course, it arrived scratched. But he has character.”
Her voice wavered enough to reveal that she loved the unusual creature.
Walked in. The house was floral heaven. Floral curtains, sofa cushions, and a bouquet-shaped porcelain tissue box.
Elen asked me pleasant questions over tea in rose-patterned cups, so I almost missed the blades.
“So, do you actually work, or is it more of a hobby?”
“Well, I work full-time in marketing,” I responded, attempting to smile. “It’s…”
Dylan boasted, “She’s really talented.”
She ended each time with a piercing laugh, like a kitten pawing you after unsheathing its claws.
“Tee-hee!”
Thank goodness Dylan looked enchanted.
“Isn’t she just the cutest?” he whispered. “She’s always been so warm.”
Warm. Like a fragrant candle before a headache.
Dylan went to the garage with his father to check on an old radio system after supper. Elen and I were alone. She rose. She smoothed her pink blouse.
“Now that it’s just us girls. I think it’s time we had a little honest talk, don’t you?”
I froze, spoon halfway to crème brûlée.
“You’re going to marry my son. So it’s only fair that I tell you exactly what’s expected of you as a future perfect daughter-in-law.”
Her hand entered a drawer. And took out a pink paper with little roses around the edges.
“These are just a few small expectations,” she remarked softly. “I find it helps if we’re all on the same page.”
She presented it. I read across the top in pink script:
“10 Rules for the Perfect Future Daughter-in-Law.”
I realized I might own my horror movie deal.
***
It was Sunday afternoon. I enjoyed two open pizza boxes and three cold oat milk lattes on my apartment couch with my buddies.
Caffeine was unnecessary. I was furious.
Emma advised “start from scratch”. “I want to picture the whole pastel nightmare.”
I inhaled and peered into the middle distance, replaying the terror.
“Okay. So we get there, and she’s dressed like a life-sized cupcake. Baby pink from head to toe. She hugs me, coughs at my jasmine perfume, and… And…”
Sasha snorted. “I knew it. I knew she’d be a tee-hee monster.”
“And the house? Floral vomit. Everywhere. The tissue box had roses.”
Emma leaned in.
“Did she bring out the list immediately?”
A finger was raised. “Not yet. First, she asked if I actually work or if it’s just, you know, a hobby.”
“No!” cried Sasha. “She did not.”
I said, voice rising, “Oh, she did. And then she pulls out a list.”
Emma was stunned.
What kind of medieval sorcery?”
“She reached into a drawer like a magic hat and pulled out my pink, floral, smug horror scroll.”
I dropped the folded papers from my bag on the table.
“I couldn’t sleep that night. It’s ingrained in me after so many readings.”
My companions bent over to read, and I saw their faces change with each line.
1. No exceptions—lose 10 pounds before the wedding.
2. Always support your mother-in-law.
3. Find jobs. Hobbies don’t work.
4. Do all housekeeping without grumbling.
5. I clean my house and bathrooms on weekends.
6. I name the baby. No debate.
7. Stop talking to men except your husband at work.
8. Give me your house key—I need complete access.
9. Always enable location on your phone.
10. Never dispute with me—I’m always correct.
She reclined slowly.
“That woman is two pearls away from full-blown dictatorship.”
Sasha regarded me.
“What did you do?” Was Dylan informed?”
“No. I didn’t want him crushed. Not yet. However, I had to rouse him up from Elen’s syrupy-pink fog.”
“You didn’t…”
Yes, I did. So I followed the rules. All of them. Using my interpretation.”
You’ll play her game?”
“Exactly. Next weekend, I start. With item five.”
After taking it, Sasha read aloud.
I clean my house on weekends. Includes bathrooms.”
“Oh, I’m going,” I responded, feeling that heat in my chest. “But the cleaning won’t be quite what she expects.”
***
Saturday morning, sun beaming, birds chirping, and my revenge plan ready. I had Dylan’s extra key from Elen’s house.
I came at 10 a.m. with rubber gloves, a tote bag full of treats, a new can of ultra-strong jasmine air freshener, and a red sock.
Start the games.
First, I threw her carefully folded Egyptian cotton, monogrammed white sheets into the laundry with the red sock I brought for this purpose. The cycle began. I grinned.
Second, I sprayed jasmine air freshener in every room.
Two bathroom sprays.
The hallway has three.
One on the welcome mat—first impressions important.
Step three: Rearranging. I relocated her ceramic angel collection from the fireplace mantle to the kitchen counter, the TV remote to the closet, and her favorite slippers and “FAMILY IS FOREVER” wooden sign upside down.
That bronze nightmare, Cupid, stared at me from the yard, daring me.
I gently toweled him and moved him to…I’ll explain later.
The house was clean by noon, but it no longer shouted “Elen.” It shouted “new management.”
I sped home after closing the door.
***
The next morning, someone pounded on my door as I tied my sneakers to leave. I opened it.
Wild-eyed, hair slightly askew, Elen held a pink bedsheet like a crime scene photo.
“You made my house smell like a carnival!She shouted, “Everything smells like cheap perfume! My shirts are pink! My Cupid—where?”
I blinked innocently.
“Good morning. I guess you like pink.”
Not ‘good morning’ me! Everything should be normal again! Now!”
“Sorry. Can’t.”
She regarded me.
“I’m late for the gym,” I said, tightening my shoelace. “Remember punch number one? Drop 10 pounds before the wedding.”
Her mouth opened, closed, reopened.
And the statue?she growled.
I felt it was crap. So I paid men to remove it.”
“How dare you?!”
Dylan emerged behind me, rubbing his eyes.
“Mom? Why yell?”
Ask her!Elen spun toward him, “She ruined my home! She spoiled the air! And she… She expelled Cupid!”
Dylan blinks. “Cupid?”
“My statue! My lovely bronze guardian!”
“Cupid’s not gone. He’s just… enjoying a quiet retirement in the garage. I thought he deserved a break from all that pollen. I just followed the rules,” I answered softly, handing Dylan the crumpled pink paper from my bag.
His eyes traced lines.
“Mom… what is this?”
“A helpful guide! To support her! To prepare her for a life with you!”
“With me or with you?”
Grabbed my gym bag and smiled.
“Anyway, I really have to run. Zumba waits for no one.”
She flared her nose. One last sugary nod over my shoulder.
“Don’t worry. I’m taking your list very seriously. You might want to start your own.”
Dylan glanced to his mother before I entered.
“Mom, we must talk. This time, please listen.”
I went, letting the door click softly behind me, and left my future MIL confront her sin, the man I loved, finally ready to draw his own lines.
