I had taken so much time to court my future mother-in-law, but she was only opposing my advances. She reluctantly allowed me to go to her dinner party, but she used the occasion to attempt to dominate me and put me in my place. Well, to put it simply, it did not turn out as she expected.
When my future mother-in-law (MIL) invited me to her glamorous 60th birthday dinner, there was one condition that made me furious: I had to do something about one of my natural features. I did not back down, but instead I appeared in the best way I could and gave her a lesson in grace that she never expected.
It began with a text.
Hey, babe, one thing: Mom wants to discuss the guest list with me tonight. Well, it ought to be all right, dinner conversation.”
My fiancé Jake was a cool guy who always attempted to keep things cool. However, when you have had experience with a Carol, you know that there is no such thing as just dinner talk. Carol is… queenly. The kind of woman who writes cheques and puts flowers in a certain way and talks in compliments that never quite sound complimentary.
I had been pursuing her for six months, but each time I believed I had her, she would abruptly withdraw with a stoic smile!
Jake had always been gentle with her. He was the typical peacemaker, the last born of three, brought up to smooth the waters in a home that never tolerated waves. When Carol said something that was a bit hurtful, Jake did not feel the urge to confront her; he felt the urge to smooth things over.
I had at first supposed it was cowardice. However, as time went by, I realised it was nothing but conditioning. He was raised to avoid upsetting her. Even as a grown man, he still desired his mother’s approval more than he would like to admit.
His mother was sixty years old. The family was enthralled with the event, much like the Oscars. We are discussing five-star restaurants, no prices on the menu, tuxedos, and glittery gowns. Champagne fountains, seating charts, and table assignments would adorn the reception.
The event felt more like a State Dinner than a birthday celebration.
I eagerly anticipated receiving my formal invitation. I was expecting it, or at least I thought I was, until Jake sat down beside me one night, a week before the special occasion. He scratched the back of his neck and said, “Hey, my mom has accepted to invite you.” I was already suspecting that there was a catch.
She wants you there awfully, but he hastened to add, “On condition that you do what she wants you to do—one thing.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He raised his hands as though I were pointing a gun at him. Now, baby, listen, don’t get upset, okay? It is but a small matter. You will have to… Well, she simply… she wants everybody to look good. That is her thing, you know. So, she was asking me, you know, whether perhaps you could do something different with your hair.”
There was a thing. The condition.
My hair.
Well, here is how it works. My hair is curly, and I am not sorry about it. That has been the case since I quit chemically straightening it in high school. My curls are thick and bright, and I must say, they are the first thing people see about me. They are my identity. I adore them.
Look, she says you are beautiful, Jake hastened to add. She simply wants… something more elegant. Perhaps erected. Trimmed. Sleek. Something tamer… wild.”
“Wild?” I repeated my question in a monotonous voice.
Jake flinched and held up his hands. It is her word, not mine. I know I love you just the way you are, babe.”
Oh, Carol. She had not uttered a single word of direct offence in the six months since our engagement. However, there were excavations. “You are so bold for wearing your hair like that; it is quite expressive.” And one time at brunch she asked me whether I had ever thought of taming it to be used in professional settings.
I looked at Jake for a minute. He was serious and somewhat ignorant and was, as usual, out of his depth.
She told me I cannot come without straightening my hair?
She had not said straighten, he mumbled. Just… something different.
I smiled sweetly. Sure, I said.
“Really, babe?” Jake questioned, obviously surprised that I did not retaliate or say anything detrimental.
When I disagreed with something, I had a tendency to argue vigorously. However, this time I chose to deal with the situation through actions rather than words. Words had not yet been able to bring me the desired results.
Thus, I was experimenting.
I will take care of it. Don’t fret, babe, I said, holding his hand.
And oh, I did.
The party night came. I was in a deep emerald satin dress with a plunging neckline and a high slit. I was ready to go to the red carpet. Heels are daggers. And my hair? Bigger. Bolder. I felt more powerful than ever before!
People turned around when Jake and I entered that restaurant.
A few days before the party, I visited the best curly hair specialist in the city. I presented her with the party invitation of Carol and told her, “Make me look like royalty.” She provided me with the works: deep treatment, carved layers and a bit of gold leaf interwoven into the coils. It was not only that my hair was voluminous; it was present!
I was a goddess by the time I walked out of that salon. This hairstyle did not damage any flat irons. Jake was aghast when he came to get me! I expected him to act as a peacemaker and suggest that I change my look, but he did not.
He just smiled and said, “You look fantastic, my love!”
Carol was sitting at the dinner, close to the bar, laughing with her old-money friends and holding a glass of champagne. When she saw me, she choked with laughter. She gazed with open eyes.
Oh, she said, smiling through her teeth. You actually appeared.
I had obeyed the condition, I said sweetly. I rendered it refined. But my way.”
She hesitated, blinked slowly, and took a sip of her drink as if it would steady her. Jake bent down and said in a low voice, “Babe, you look… unbelievable.”
As we neared the table, I became aware of Carol’s meticulous attention to detail. She had not only drawn up a guest list; she had worked out the photographs.
A Canon-wielding professional photographer was going around with a clipboard. Group shots. Family shots. Candids.
I heard Carol telling the photographer something just before the first group photo. Suddenly, the photographer suggested rearranging the group. Jake and I were continually being moved farther and farther out of the centre, back “just to balance”. The movement wasn’t particularly subtle.
However, my hair remained unaffected. It flowed down my shoulders like fire, flashing in the light and the lens of the camera with each turn!
I was very polite in spite of the evident attempts to snub me, which were not successful. The appetisers were complimented by my future MIL. I praised her earrings. It was civil, at any rate, on the surface.
Then followed the toast.
Carol was standing, holding a glass, thanking everyone for being there to make her feel so loved. She shouted the names of her children and their spouses, nodded in the direction of Jake, and… passed me over completely.
Seeing that I was skipped, my fiancé squeezed my hand under the table. Despite my set jaw, I smiled.
Carol came up to me after dinner, close to the ladies room.
She said, in a low voice, I am surprised.
“At what?” I turned to her and asked.
You promised me you would take care of it.
“I did. I rendered it refined. You did not say how.”
She surveyed me, the dress, the hair, and the insolence of my eyes. I wondered for a moment that she would not say something cutting. Then she merely nodded.
You made a statement all right.
I bent forward. And that, I suppose, was your aim, to get everybody talking; well, you succeeded.
We stared into each other, and I swear something changed. Perhaps she admired the nerve. Or perhaps she knew that she had lost control; I do not know. But that night something had changed between us.
Jake and I quit the party early. In the car he kissed me and said, “You were the most beautiful woman in that room.” I had enjoyed myself at the party despite the tensions and snubbing.
Many people literally walked up to me and complimented my appearance and my hair! Therefore, although Carol did not approve, I was aware that her guests did not.
The thing I did not expect was to hear Carol again so soon.
My MIL called two days after. I found out later that she had obtained my number through Jake.
I was anticipating tension. There could have been a chilly silence.
But she said, instead, “I owe you an apology.”
I opened my eyes and sat up more erect on the couch. “Come again?”
“I think… I have been attempting to manage things. I am afraid of losing Jake. And you are… not what I thought.”
That is not quite an apology, I said, but kindly.
She sighed. “You’re different. You question. And perhaps that is not a bad thing. Well, I am sorry I asked you to make yourself less.”
She hesitated and then said, “I was thinking… there is a wedding in a month. She is my friend’s daughter. I do not know what to do with my hair. You see, I wonder whether you could… help me?”
I almost dropped the phone!
You want me to dress your hair? I questioned in amazement.
You know what is elegant, I suppose.
I laughed; I could not help it. Saying the words that altered everything the first time I talked to Jake, I answered, “Sure. I will take care of it!”
Well, I did watch her condition. I did not respect her intentions, but I still respected her condition. After all, she had learnt something.
A woman like me cannot be shrunk. You can try to diminish me, but I will only become more radiant!
Sadly, Jake is not the only man whose fiancéehas had to contend with a powerful MIL. In the next story, the MIL of Arielle requests to use her smart apartment to celebrate her birthday, but one of the terms is that she cannot be present at the event. Arielle complies, but karma soon places her MIL in her place.