You always have excuses. Fine, don’t come—but don’t expect me to forget this.”
I thought she was just being dramatic. I had no idea what she was planning.
The next morning, I woke up late—very late. My alarm, which I always set for 6:30 a.m., was somehow changed to 9:30 a.m. I panicked, grabbed my phone, and ran to the living room—only to find Lydia sipping her coffee, smiling smugly.
Me (shaking): “DID YOU TOUCH MY ALARM?!”
Lydia (calmly): “I told you—you had time for my dinner. Now I took my time BACK.”
Me (shocked): “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”
I raced to campus, but I was too late. They wouldn’t let me into the exam hall.
When I confronted her later, she didn’t even flinch. She kept acting as if it was ME who’d hurt her feelings and traumatized her by “yelling.”
So, I waited. Patiently.
To get back at her. When I got home, my MIL Lydia smirked: “ONE LITTLE TEST WON’T MATTER WHEN YOU HAVE BABIES TO WORRY ABOUT.”
So two nights later, I RESET every clock in the house three hours ahead. At midnight, her alarm went off.
By 1 a.m. she was racing to the airport, convinced her flight was in an hour. By 1:15, my phone blew up with her furious voicemails:
“YOU DID THIS, DIDN’T YOU?!” I slept like a baby.
When I finally replied at 8 a.m., all I wrote was: “Oh no! I thought you liked surprises… after how you helped me with mine.” Lydia hasn’t crossed me since.
