Gloria, my mother-in-law, was more of a saboteur than just a meddler.
Things got worse from there. Gloria’s specialty turned into passive-aggressive control. Compliments that weren’t really compliments, advice I didn’t ask for, and little things like “fixing” my cooking while I was still making it or bringing “extras” to dinners I’d planned carefully.
This brings us to Thanksgiving—our Thanksgiving. After years in tiny apartments, Mark and I finally bought our own home and hosted for the first time. It was my chance to shine or at least bake a pie without someone swooping in with “a better recipe.”
I wanted everything perfect. The house smelled like cinnamon and roasted turkey; the dinner table had real cloth napkins (a luxury); and my apple pie crust looked magazine-worthy.
