My MIL moved in with us a month ago. It was supposed to be temporary, but it felt like a sentence. From day one, I noticed strange things: my closet was rearranged, drawers not quite how I left them, and items slightly shifted. I’d find my underwear folded differently or my jewelry box unlatched.
My husband swore she’d NEVER snoop. He insisted she was just “cleaning” or “being helpful.” I wasn’t that sure. She had always disliked me, and I knew she was looking for dirt to use against me. So I got creative and set a trap for her right in MY closet.
I bought a cheap notebook and wrote “MY DIARY – PRIVATE” on the front in big letters. On the very first page, I wrote a steamy, scandalous entry about my secret affair with a man named “Antonio.” I detailed our meeting spots, his muscles, and how much better he treated me than my husband. I buried the notebook deep inside my sock drawer—a place no one “cleaning” would ever need to go.
Then I waited.
A few days later, we were having dinner with the whole family. Everyone was there—aunts, uncles, cousins. We were cutting the roast beef when my MIL suddenly slammed her fork down. Her face was bright red with “righteous” anger.
“Maybe before we all start celebrating family traditions, we should talk about what you are hiding from my son, Milly?!” she shouted.
The room fell silent. My husband froze mid-bite. “Mom, what are you talking about?”
“Ask her!” she shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at me. “Ask her about Antonio! Ask her about the affair she’s having behind your back!”
My husband looked at me, confused. “Who is Antonio?”
“He’s her lover!” MIL yelled triumphantly. “I know everything! I know he comes over when you’re at work! I know she loves his ‘Latin charm’! It’s all in her diary!”
OH YES! I smiled inside. The trap had snapped shut.
“You read my diary?” I asked calmly.
“I… I was looking for socks!” she stammered, realizing she’d admitted to snooping in front of everyone. “But that doesn’t matter! You’re a cheater! You admitted to sleeping with Antonio the pool boy!”
My husband dropped his fork. He looked at his mother, then at me, and started laughing.
“Mom,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “We live in a fourth-floor apartment. We don’t have a pool.”
The table erupted in laughter. MIL turned pale.
“And,” I added, “I don’t have a diary. I wrote that page on Tuesday because I knew you couldn’t keep your nose out of my underwear drawer. There is no Antonio. But there is a very nosey mother-in-law who just lost her living privileges.”
My husband packed her bags that night. She’s staying with her sister now, and needless to say, she’s not invited to the next family dinner.
