Jack came home exhausted and starving. The smell of roast beef filled the kitchen, and his wife, Emily, was chopping a fresh salad.
“Ah, smells delicious,” he sighed.
“Trying my best for our guests,” she smiled.
“What guests?”
“Well, you said your cousin and her husband were coming over to shower,” Emily shrugged.
“Right, but please don’t go to any trouble. You’ll regret it,” he muttered with a heavy sigh.
His mother had called him at work with big news—his niece Charlotte and her husband William had bought a flat in the next building, but their water wasn’t connected yet due to renovations. His mum begged him to let them shower at his place for a couple of days. Seemed simple enough. But Jack knew better—when it came to Aunt Margaret and her daughter, nothing was ever simple.
Emily, of course, wanted to be hospitable. Charlotte and William arrived in the evening, all smiles and noise. Charlotte immediately gave herself a tour of the flat, even peeking into the bedroom before Jack shut the door in her face. Then, with a businesslike tone, she asked Emily for towels—”forgot ours.” After their shower, the couple made themselves at home at the dinner table, where a steaming roast was waiting. Charlotte smacked her lips, praising the food, while Emily shot Jack a look—he just shrugged.
The next day, it happened again. And the day after. They showered, stayed for dinner, and ate as if they hadn’t had a meal in weeks. Emily cooked with care, but the exhaustion was building. Charlotte got fussy—”What’s this broccoli bake? Do you actually eat this?” On the fourth day, she turned her nose up at spaghetti bolognese. “Where’s the meat? It’s all sauce!” Jack finally cracked and gently asked William when their water would be restored. The answer was simple: “Oh, they turned it on yesterday morning.”
Charlotte winced.
“It’s just… we haven’t fitted the shower yet,” she mumbled.
When they finally left, Emily slumped into a chair.
“How long is this going to go on? I feel like I’m running a canteen!”
“We need a plan,” Jack agreed.
The next evening, Emily greeted them with an odd smile. On the table sat bowls of plain porridge oats, grated apple, and a kettle of boiling water.
“Beauty salad. French. Amazing for skin, hair, nails—Jack and I only eat this now. Help yourselves,” she said, straight-faced.
Charlotte prodded the porridge with a spoon. William took two sips and jumped up.
“Er, we’d better dash. Busy evening…”
The next morning, Charlotte called Jack.
“So… are you having that salad again?”
“Of course. Emily says it’s a ten-day cleanse. If you’re popping round, bring something meaty—I’m dreaming of sausages.”
“No, we won’t. Fitted the shower now. We’ll wash at ours,” she said curtly.
A few days later, his mum rang.
“Sweetheart, Aunt Margaret says your wife isn’t feeding you.”
“Mum, don’t listen to nonsense. I’m fed, happy, and married to the best woman alive! Oh, and we’re moving soon—selling this flat.”
After that, the guests stayed away. And the porridge remained, a humble symbol of victory.
