Vika carefully arranged elegant plates made from the finest bone china on a perfectly ironed white tablecloth. By each plate, she placed heavy cutlery polished to a mirror shine. The centerpiece was a grand festive tureen, one that only made an appearance on truly special occasions. From the outside, the table setting looked luxurious, as if the hostess was preparing to welcome the most honored guests. But beneath all this decorative beauty was a clever culinary twist.
Inside that expensive tureen were nothing more than ordinary ‘Krasnaya Tsena’ brand macaroni. They were plain, grayish-beige, and had already stuck together into a dense, shapeless lump. In the beautiful woven breadbasket, instead of the usual fresh ciabatta or a tempting baguette with a crackling crust, there were thick slices of the cheapest white loaf. The crumb was so airy that it began to fall apart with even the lightest touch. The finishing touch on this unusual arrangement was a fancy French press. Only, instead of fragrant freshly brewed coffee, it held two sad tea bags steeping slowly, tinting the hot water a murky reddish-brown.
At exactly six o’clock, the doorbell rang. Her mother-in-law and her husband’s sister arrived at the door almost simultaneously, like two perfectly synchronized parts of an expensive clock. As soon as they stepped into the apartment, both immediately started sniffing the air. Vika was used to this gesture by now: at every visit, her relatives always began with this familiar inspection.
Irina Mikhailovna and Marina usually hoped to catch the scent of roasted meats, expensive fish, or some kind of exquisite sauce. If they did, it would instantly trigger their usual talk about excessive spending, how modern young people are wasteful, and their own extremely modest tastes in food. But this time, the hallway greeted them only with freshness and the smell of recent cleaning.
‘Come in, my dears, everything is ready!’ Vika sang out in a sweet, almost syrupy voice, carefully helping her mother-in-law out of her coat. ‘Dinner is absolutely fresh, straight from the stove!’
While both relatives headed off to wash their hands, quietly whispering about something to each other, Vika couldn’t help but remember the events that led up to tonight’s unusual dinner.
It couldn’t be said that Irina Mikhailovna and her daughter Marina were experiencing any real financial difficulties. Her mother-in-law owned a spacious two-bedroom apartment in a prosperous neighborhood, which she rented out for a steady extra income. Besides that, she had a perfectly decent pension. Marina was the chief accountant at a large logistics and shipping company, and she earned quite well herself.
Both women were regulars at Turkish resorts, always chose high-quality expensive shoes, and never hesitated to visit private medical clinics. Comfort was something they never skimped on. But the moment this mother and daughter stepped into Kostya and Vika’s apartment, their entire demeanor changed dramatically. Suddenly, these wealthy ladies would become the picture of poor, unfortunate relatives—straight out of a Dickens novel.
Their endless remarks about being unassuming people, unused to fancy delicacies, had nothing to do with true frugality. It was a meticulously rehearsed act, performed with impressive skill. They would always portray themselves as models of modesty and wise money management, so that next to them, Vika looked like a reckless spender. Just a frivolous woman who thoughtlessly blew the family’s money and was practically draining their beloved Kostya’s last penny.
Vika especially remembered their last family dinner—it was then that the unpleasant incident occurred, which she privately dubbed ‘The Meat Scandal.’ After that night, her confidence as a good hostess took a serious hit.
On that day, she wanted to host a truly festive meal for the family. She hoped to make something special, so the guests would feel welcomed and appreciated. Vika bought some perfect ribeye steaks, carefully picked out fresh rosemary, and prepared an elaborate salad with tiger prawns and ripe avocado. She spent almost four hours in the kitchen, paying close attention to every dish. She was extra careful with the doneness of the meat, trying to achieve the perfect result and please everyone’s tastes.
But as soon as the festive plates were set before the guests, Irina Mikhailovna pursed her lips in disapproval. She touched the juicy marbled meat with her fork in distaste, as if it was something entirely inappropriate rather than a pricey treat.
‘Vika, why are you throwing money away like this?’ her mother-in-law said, her voice full of exaggerated anguish, as if this was some huge tragedy. ‘Do you understand how much all this costs? Such insane spending! Kostya will have to renew his car insurance soon, and here you are throwing the family’s money around like it’s nothing.’
‘Irina Mikhailovna, but we’re celebrating a special occasion today. We haven’t seen each other in so long, and I just wanted to make something tasty for you,’ Vika replied gently, trying to keep the atmosphere friendly.
But deep down, she was already starting to feel the sting of bitterness.
‘Oh, what pleasure can anyone find in such extravagant luxury!’ Marina’s mother immediately chimed in, pointedly pushing away her plate of shrimp salad. ‘We’re just not used to all these excesses. Just give us some plain buckwheat and a piece of boiled chicken, and that’s a real treat for us. These foreign products are absolutely unnecessary. I lose my appetite just thinking of all the money wasted on this.’
Back then, Kostya chose to stay out of it. He awkwardly lowered his eyes and focused on his own steak, as if the entire conversation had nothing to do with him. Vika, on the other hand, spent the rest of the evening with a heavy lump in her throat. She felt as if she had done something shameful, nearly taking the last savings from some poor, needy people just for her own enjoyment.
She swallowed her indignation that evening. She convinced herself that she had just misjudged the guests’ preferences. Maybe her mother-in-law and sister-in-law simply had entirely different ideas about what made for a good dinner and family values. After all, people have a right to prefer simple food over expensive dishes.
But everything changed for her just two weeks later.
One Tuesday evening, Vika was busy with chores, tidying up the bathroom. Kostya was in the living room when his sister called. He was assembling a small cabinet at the time, so his hands were full of tools and pieces. To keep working, he put the phone on speaker. Kostya had no idea that with the bathroom door slightly ajar, his wife could hear every word of the conversation.
‘Kostya, do you even know what’s going on in your own house? Are you keeping any sort of control over your household spending?’ Marina snapped.
This time, her voice had none of the usual complaints or feigned helplessness. She spoke sharply, irritably, and with complete confidence.
‘Take her salary card away. Or at least set limits on her spending! She’ll bankrupt you with her expensive tastes. All she wants is to buy overpriced food, stuff herself with delicacies, and show off. Just yesterday I saw with my own eyes how she brought home two full bags from VkusVill. You work your tail off, and your wife denies herself nothing!’
Vika froze in place.
Now everything became crystal clear. All the talk about modesty, thrift, and not being picky was nothing but a cover. The real goal was never about saving the family money. Her mother-in-law and sister-in-law were simply trying to paint Vika as a terrible wife who couldn’t manage the household or take care of her husband.
She suddenly realized that trying to justify herself to people who deliberately used such tactics was completely pointless. Any explanation would only fuel their game—one where her role was always to feel guilty.
So Vika decided to take a different approach.
Since her husband’s relatives insisted so much on simple, cheap food, that’s exactly what they would get. And she would make sure to give them precisely what they’d asked for, right down to every last detail.
That same evening, she made her husband tea, set his cup in front of him, sat down across the table, and looked Kostya straight in the eyes.
“Kostya, we need to have a serious conversation about your mom and Marina,” Vika began calmly. “And there’s another discussion I overheard today completely by accident.”
Her husband immediately tensed up. Finding himself caught between his wife and close relatives, he instinctively tried to smooth over the brewing conflict and explain everything away as a simple misunderstanding.
“Vika, please, don’t start worrying about this. You know exactly what my mom is like. She was raised in another era—she counts every penny. She’s on a pension, and Marina is always watching their expenses too. All their lives, they’ve tried to save up for a rainy day. So when they see us with expensive steaks or shrimp, it bothers them. It’s just their attitude towards money, don’t take it to heart.”
Vika gave a brief smirk. Only the corners of her lips moved, and there wasn’t a trace of amusement in her expression.
“Old-fashioned upbringing, you say? Kostya, do you actually believe that explanation? And the five-star hotel in Marmaris, the one they just returned from a month ago—was that some act of economy too? Maybe they got a free vacation from the union? And the cosmetic injections your sister gets every six months at an expensive private clinic—are those covered by regular health insurance?”
Kostya blinked several times in confusion. He clearly hadn’t expected arguments like that.
“And what does that have to do with any of this?..”
“Everything,” Vika answered firmly. “Your mom and sister aren’t suffering or making sacrifices for the sake of saving money. They actually live very comfortably. But the moment they walk into our home, they suddenly turn into helpless victims who supposedly don’t need anything. And do you know why they put on that act? So that next to them, I look like a selfish, spoiled woman who only knows how to spend your money. They don’t need cheap sausage or bland porridge. They want to make me feel guilty for wanting to cook good food for my own husband in our own home.”
Vika grabbed her phone, opened her banking app, found the right sections, and pushed the screen toward Kostya.
“Look closely. Here you can see how much I earn. And here are my grocery expenses. I’m not asking you for a penny beyond what we both put into our family budget. But your sister thinks you should take my card away from me. Do you realize how absurd this looks? To them, you’re someone who can’t manage your own finances, and I’m made out to be a monster.”
Kostya stared at the numbers on the screen for a long time. Gradually, the familiar confidence that his mother’s and sister’s comments were harmless started to fade from his face.
In truth, Kostya was a pretty reasonable guy. Like many men, though, he chose to ignore the subtle rivalry and small intrigues between the women close to him for as long as possible. It felt much easier for him to see it all as simple family disagreements, rather than admit that his relatives were deliberately putting his wife down.
Finally, he put his phone aside and asked quietly:
“So what do you suggest we do now? Have a big argument with them? Ban my mom and Marina from coming over?”
“Why should we start a scandal with any
one?” Vika replied.
A calm, cold smile appeared on her face.
“On the contrary, we’ll become the most attentive and obedient relatives you could imagine. They’re always saying they prefer simple food? Perfect. We’ll give them exactly the simplicity they’ve been asking for so many times. I just need to be sure ahead of time that you’ll completely support me and not back out at the last minute.”
During the next ten minutes, Vika explained her plan to her husband in detail.
At first, Kostya listened with obvious tension. At one point, he was so surprised he even choked on his tea. But the more his wife revealed about the details of their upcoming dinner, the more his mood changed. Eventually, he couldn’t help it—he started laughing, and this time it was totally genuine.
That’s how Vika achieved the most important thing: her husband understood her intentions and finally agreed to act as a team.
Now all that was left was to bring their plan to life.
Getting ready for Irina Mikhaylovna and Marina’s visit today felt more like executing a well-planned operation than your usual pre-family-dinner chores.
Vika purposely avoided her usual supermarket and went to the cheapest discount store on the edge of the neighborhood. Under the cold, dim light of the fluorescent lamps, she slowly walked between the pallets, studying the selection carefully. She was only interested in the cheapest groceries, preferably in dull packaging with the plainest labels.
She picked out pasta that started losing its shape midway through boiling and quickly turned into a sticky mess. Then she grabbed a cheap bagged tea, which looked like it had more tea dust than real leaves. She finished her shopping with a soft white loaf of bread—so airy and crumbly, she could squeeze it down to the size of a matchbox with just her hand.
These were the very items that would be the star attractions on their festive dinner table tonight.
“So, Vikochka, what are you treating us to today? What delicious things have you prepared?” came Irina Mikhaylovna’s cheerful voice, pulling the hostess back from her thoughts into the present moment.
Her mother-in-law walked into the kitchen with Marina right behind her. Both women took their usual seats at the beautifully set table.
At first, Irina Mikhaylovna seemed perfectly satisfied. She glanced at the sparkling white tablecloth, the fine dishes, and the gleaming utensils. But as soon as she peeked into the festive soup tureen, her friendly smile began to slowly fade from her face.
Marina also glanced at the contents of the dish.
She blinked in surprise, then blinked again, as if hoping her eyes were playing tricks on her. After that, Marina stared at the strange grayish lump of clumped-together pasta, which looked less like a proper dinner and more like a dense pasta pie of the most unappetizing kind.
Irina Mikhailovna carefully picked up the tureen with two fingers and pulled it closer to herself. She looked inside, silently studying the contents for several seconds, before lifting her gaze to her daughter-in-law, completely perplexed.
“Vika, where’s the main dish?” the mother-in-law asked in confusion. “Did your stove break by any chance? Or did you put something in the oven and forget to take it out?”
There was no longer any of Irina Mikhailovna’s usual gentle, condescending warmth in her voice. Now, all that could be heard was genuine bewilderment.
Vika replied with such a wide, sincere and joyful smile that, to an outsider, it might even seem a little unsettling. She leaned toward the table, pressed her hands together in front of her, and began to speak in a bright, ceremonious tone, like a model student giving a speech at a festive morning event.
“Irina Mikhailovna, this is our main dish right here! It’s sitting right in front of you! You can’t even imagine how much I reflected after our last get-together. I barely slept all night! I suddenly felt so embarrassed about my love for luxury, about all those completely unnecessary extravagances! You truly helped me see life differently!”
Her mother-in-law started to open her mouth as if to object, but Vika didn’t let her get a word in. She continued even more enthusiastically:
“I decided I must follow your example! It’s time for us to learn to live simply, without unnecessary spending. After all, every penny saved makes a difference! I cooked the pasta today strictly by the minute—I even used a stopwatch. And I didn’t buy any butter at all. Why waste money and overload ourselves with cholesterol? Water, flour, and a little salt—those are the secrets for proper nutrition! Nothing extra, just pure savings! Please, help yourselves—don’t be shy!”
With irritation, Marina pushed her chair away from the table.
“Vika, do you even realize what you’re doing?!” she snapped. “What kind of show is this? Are you deliberately making fun of us? We came here for a dinner, and you’re offering us food fit for animals!”
This was exactly the reaction Vika had expected. It was for this moment that she had orchestrated the whole spectacle tonight. Still, there was no surprise or confusion on her face. She instantly shot back, skillfully echoing Marina’s own past words.
“Marina, what kind of performance are you putting on? Why are you saying that?” Vika widened her eyes in a show of genuine confusion. “Weren’t you the one who explained last time that you all prefer simple things and don’t need any fancy dishes? You even told me yourself that you can’t bring yourself to eat shrimp anymore after remembering their price. I specifically went around to three of the cheapest stores on the outskirts today just for you! I searched for the most affordable bread so you could enjoy dinner without worrying about the money spent. I did all this solely out of deep respect for your beliefs and lifestyle choices!”
Irina Mikhailovna sat there completely stunned. She just couldn’t find the right words.
The careful strategy she’d built for years suddenly stopped working. How could she criticize her daughter-in-law for reckless spending when there were only a few handfuls of cheap pasta on the table? How could she act the part of the humble victim when the hostess had so thoughtfully made sure to provide exactly the lifestyle she herself kept praising?
Now, any accusation would just turn back against the guests themselves.
Right at that moment, Kostya walked into the kitchen. He’d just come home from work, managed to wash his hands, and now calmly took his seat at the table, scanning the group. Marina immediately turned toward her brother, like someone spotting a life preserver while drowning.
“Kostya! Just look at what your wife is doing!” she cried indignantly. “Look at the food she’s serving your own mother! This is nothing but outright mockery and total disrespect!”
Unfazed, Kostya picked up his fork. With some effort, he separated a rather large portion from the clump of pasta and put it on his plate. Then he broke off a piece of the soft, fluffy bread.
“Mom, Marina, what’s the problem, exactly?” he asked in a completely matter-of-fact voice, putting some pasta in his mouth. “Vika went out of her way to make something you’d like. Last time, you two were nearly in tears over the expensive marbled beef, worrying about how much it cost me. Now this is exactly what you asked for—simple, cheap, nothing extra. Eat up, while it’s still hot.”
Marina clenched her teeth. It was clear she was running out of patience. She abruptly opened her purse, pulled out her phone, and started tapping the screen in irritation.
“You know what I’m going to do right now, Vika?” his sister spat out, barely containing her anger. “I’m going to take a picture of all this! And I’ll post it straight to our family group chat. Let Aunt Galya and Uncle Misha see what you feed your own husband! Then everyone will know how you really run your household!”
She turned on the camera and aimed it directly at the festive soup tureen, which held a very unappetizing, greyish lump of stuck-together pasta.
Marina thought that this kind of threat would instantly scare her daughter-in-law. From her point of view, Vika was supposed to start making excuses, begging her not to send the photo, and pleading not to be made a laughingstock in front of the whole family.
But what happened was the complete opposite.
Vika didn’t even think of objecting. She calmly stood up, walked around the table, and stopped behind Marina. Then, with care, she adjusted the chandelier lampshade so the light would fall better on the dish being photographed.
“Just make sure you add the right caption to the photo!” she cheerfully advised, peering over her sister-in-law’s shoulder. “You can write this down after me: ‘Dear family! At last, Vika has followed the wise advice from my mother. From now on there will be no fancy shrimp or lavish meat dishes in our house! We’re learning to manage our money wisely and saving up for new winter tires for Kostya!’”
Kostya, sitting across the table, couldn’t quite hold it in. A short snort—almost like a piglet’s—escaped him. He quickly picked up his teacup, trying to hide the growing smile behind it.
Marina’s attempt to publicly shame her daughter-in-law failed before the photo even made it to the family group chat.
After all, if you send the picture with Vika’s suggested caption, it looks like she simply listened to the older relatives’ wishes and became a model of thrift. And if you write something outraged, you have to explain why a simple meal suddenly doesn’t suit the very people who always complained about expensive treats.
Marina angrily tossed her phone face down on the table.
“That’s it, enough!” she muttered through clenched teeth. “I’ll order some decent pizza or sushi for everyone! I’ll pay myself if you all have decided to save on everything until we’re penniless!”
But Vika was ready for this, too.
“Marina, what sushi?” she asked in surprise, fixing her sister-in-law with a steady gaze. “Two thousand hryvnias for a few pieces of rice and raw fish? Are you seriously suggesting that kind of reckless spending? No way, there’s no extravagance like that in my home! We’re not used to such expensive habits. Cancel the order right now. I’ll heat up some water, we’ll have some tea—and it’ll be a perfectly fine dinner.”
Every word Vika spoke was clear and carried that very same didactic confidence her relatives used when lecturing her.
After that, there was no point in continuing the conversation.
Irina Mikhailovna and Marina didn’t stay with Kostya and Vika for even half an hour longer. Soon, both women were hurriedly getting dressed in the hallway. The mother-in-law struggled to get her arm into her coat sleeve, while Marina irritably adjusted her outfit and tried to avoid looking at the lady of the house.
It was practically impossible for them to put on their usual scene with loud accusations and a dramatic door slam. Technically, their daughter-in-law had fulfilled all their often-repeated wishes. She made an inexpensive dinner, refused delicacies, and showed exceptional thriftiness.
Vika turned out to be exactly the modest hostess her relatives had demanded for so long.
Now, they have absolutely no grounds to complain. The only thing they’ve lost is the chance to showcase themselves as paragons of virtue against their supposedly wasteful daughter-in-law.
Irina Mikhailovna had just reached for the door handle when Vika suddenly appeared from the kitchen. She was holding a neat plastic container with a lid.
“Irina Mikhailovna, just a second, please!” Vika called out gently to her mother-in-law.
Before she could respond, Vika handed her the container with the most caring smile. Inside were the leftovers of those same sticky pasta noodles.
“Here, take this for later! Why let good food go to waste? You always say we should never throw anything away. A saved penny is a penny earned for the family budget!”
The mother-in-law stared blankly at the plastic container, completely at a loss for words.
A few moments later, the front door finally closed.
A surprisingly pleasant silence settled over the apartment. It wasn’t heavy or tense, like after a typical family argument, but light and almost festive.
Vika leaned back against the hallway wall and, for the first time all evening, burst out laughing with genuine joy, no longer hiding her amusement behind an overly polite smile.
Kostya appeared from the kitchen. He walked over to his wife, hugged her around the shoulders, and let out a relieved sigh.
“So, can we order something actually edible now? Swallowing that pasta was tough—I swear it had the texture of cement!”
“Of course, go ahead and order,” Vika smiled. “And this weekend, I’ll buy some good steaks again.”
Sometimes, the most effective way to stop someone from acting morally superior is to offer them the chance to live by the very rules they love to impose on everyone else.
People who regularly put on their figurative ‘white coat’ often use showy modesty as a tool for pressure. They complain about expenses, criticize others’ purchases, and belittle others’ efforts, all while hiding behind talk of reasonable saving and simplicity.
But the truth is, they don’t actually want that simple, modest life they talk so much about.
What matters more is making someone else feel guilty, forcing them to justify themselves, and endlessly prove they’re good enough as a host, partner, or relative. They expect you to spend even more time and money, preparing increasingly elaborate dishes and trying to meet every demand, while they continue to find new reasons for criticism.
But the moment you refuse to play the role they’ve assigned to you, the old scheme stops working.
Often, it doesn’t take long explanations, loud arguments, or trying to prove your point.
Sometimes it’s enough to just take their words literally.
Just serve them a bowl of plain buckwheat.
And before saying goodbye, offering to lovingly pack up the leftover portion for you to take home.