**A Week of Sausage: When My Mother-in-Law Judges Our Portions**
That day in mid-July, Margaret Whitmore was scrubbing the windows, fluffing the cushions, and reminding her daughter it was time to visit the countrysidethe garlic was ready to harvest. Emily tried to explain: work, commitments, the children But her mother, as stubborn as ever, wouldnt relent.
Summers nearly over, and youre all cooped up in your flat in London! she snapped over the phone. The strawberries will spoil, the potatoes will go soft, and youll just be staring at your phones!
Eventually, they settled on a weekendjust long enough to help in the garden and enjoy a quiet evening.
William, though, had no desire to make the trip. Their last visit had ended badly, leaving a bitter taste. Hed only asked for a bit of sausage to go with the roastbut his mother-in-law had flat-out refused. So harshly, in fact, hed been left speechless.
On Saturday, they set off early. The work was efficient: the garlic was pulled, sorted, and stored. Now came the eveningdinner, family chatter. William showered and wandered into the kitchen. Emily and her mother were setting the table. The scent of roast filled the room. To pass the time, he opened the fridge, grabbed a few slices of sausage for a sandwichwhen suddenly
Dont touch that! Margarets voice cracked like a whip.
The sausage went straight back into the fridge. William froze, stunned.
Whats wrong, Mum? Emily asked, bewildered.
That sausage is for breakfast, with toast! Not before. And dont ruin your appetite! her mother cut in sharply.
William ate the roast, but not a scrap of meat was to be found. He asked again for a bit of sausage. Another refusal.
Why this obsession? Margaret huffed. Youve already eaten half of it! Do you know how much it costs? Its meant to last the week!
William pushed his plate away. His appetite gone, he stepped outside, lay on the garden bench, and stared at the sky. Emily joined him later.
Lets go home. I cant stand this. Every move is watched like Im a thief. Im even afraid to butter my toast too thick in case she snatches it from me.
There isnt even a shop here, Emily murmured awkwardly. Just the greengrocers van on Wednesdays.
We shouldve brought food instead of cherries and plums, William grumbled. Im leaving tomorrow. Ill come back for you later. Because without meat, I wont last long.
Well leave together, Emily said firmly.
The next morning, they drove back to London. Emily lied to her mother, claiming a work emergency for William. Margaret watched them go with a scowl.
A year passed. They hadnt set foot in Margarets house again. But she, on the other hand, visited them without issue. And oddly, shed open their fridge as if it were her own, taking whatever she pleased without asking. William even laughed about it:
Look at thatsausage! Apparently, here, she has all the rights
But come spring, the calls started again:
So, when are you coming? The garden wont tend itself.
William resisteduntil Emily suggested a trick:
Lets bring supplies. That way, Mum cant count our portions.
William agreedon one condition: a detour to the supermarket. And there they were again, arms laden with bags, standing at the cottage door.
Whats all this? Plums? Margaret pursed her lips. But rummaging through the bags, she found cheese, meat, sausage. And fell silent.
Now you wont have to measure how many grams I eat, William smirked.
Margaret let out a dismissive sniff but said nothing. Later, in the kitchen, she murmured to Emily:
Itd be nice if you always brought supplies. Easier for me, less fuss for you.
Emily nodded, torn between irritation and amusement. But the important thing was this: William was willing to come back. With groceries, yes. But without arguments or reproach. And that, when you thought about it, was its own kind of family happiness.
