My in-laws always treated paying a bill like something beneath them—as if it would tarnish their image.
Every family meal became the same predictable performance: pocket‑patting, surprise, and the classic “Oops, left my wallet at home.” At first, I gave them the benefit of the doubt. But repeated patterns revealed plain stinginess. They fully expected “less wealthy” relatives to rescue them.
My mom? She’s no fool—sharp, proud, and doesn’t let anyone play her. Yet despite their wealth, they never paid their share at restaurants.
One evening, Dan’s parents dashed out of a fancy restaurant while he was in the bathroom, leaving us with a \$300 bill. He sighed and swiped his card: “I’ve tried talking to them—they just don’t see anything wrong.”
Then there was the 60th‑birthday dinner invitation for MIL at a posh Italian place—coincidentally when Dan and I had a non‑refundable anniversary trip. They insisted my mom attend. I warned her: “They’ll order the priciest dishes and vanish at the end.” She just laughed.
After the trip, my mom called: the in‑laws arrived in designer gear, ordered everything—fine appetizers, unlocked‑case wines, wagyu with gold. She had pasta and water. When the bill arrived, they all made excuses and fled, leaving her with a \$1500 check.
Did she pay? Of course not. She ordered a chocolate soufflé and port, then asked for the manager—her former student, Robbie. He called the in‑laws, warned them their party had left without settling the bill and could return or face legal consequences. Promptly, they returned—red‑faced and furious—settling over \$2000 (with a 25% inconvenience fee).
Next time we went out, MIL loudly announced, “Everyone’s paying separately tonight,” while Dan and I exchanged knowing looks.
Mom taught them a lesson they’ll never forget.