**A Week of Sausage: When My Mother-in-Law Judges Our Portions**
**Sausage for the Weekor How My Mother-in-Law Counts Every Bite**
That day in the middle of July, Margaret Whitmore was cleaning the windows, plumping the cushions, and reminding her daughter it was high time to visit the countrysidethe garlic was ready to harvest. Emily tried to make excuses: work, commitments, the children But her mother, as stubborn as ever, wouldnt budge.
“Summer will be over soon, and youre all cooped up in your flat in London!” she snapped over the phone, exasperated. “The strawberries will go to waste, the potatoes will turn green, and youll just sit there staring at your phones!”
Eventually, they settled on a weekendjust long enough to help in the vegetable patch 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 Sunday roastbut his mother-in-law had outright refused. So sharply it left him speechless.
On Saturday, they set off early. They worked efficiently: the garlic was pulled, sorted, and stored. Then came the evening, the dinner, the family chatter. William showered and stepped into the kitchen. Emily and her mother were setting the table. The rich scent of roast filled the air. To pass the time, William opened the fridge, grabbed a few slices of sausage for a sandwichwhen suddenly
“Leave that alone!” Margarets voice cracked like a whip.
The sausage went straight back into the fridge. William froze, stunned.
“Whats the matter, Mum?” Emily asked, bewildered.
“That sausage is for breakfast, with toast! Not before. And dont ruin your appetite!” Margaret cut in sharply.
William ate the roast but found no meat on his plate. 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 walked out, 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.”
“Theres not even a shop here,” Emily muttered, embarrassed. “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.”
“Were leaving 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, her expression dark.
A year passed. They hadnt set foot in Margarets house since. But she, on the other hand, visited them without issue. And oddly, shed open their fridge as if it were her own, taking what she pleased without asking. William even laughed about it:
“Look at thatthe sausage! Apparently, here, she has all the rights”
But come spring, the calls started again:
“So, when are you visiting? The garden wont wait forever.”
William resisted. Until Emily suggested a trick:
“Lets bring supplies. That way, Mum wont have to count our portions.”
William agreedon one condition: theyd stop by the supermarket first. And so, there they were again, arms laden with bags, standing at the country house.
“Whats all this? More plums?” Margaret said, lips pursed. But as she rummaged through the bags, she found cheese, meat, sausage. And fell silent.
“Now you wont have to measure how many grams Im eating,” William smirked.
Margaret made a dismissive noise but said nothing. Later, in the kitchen, she murmured to Emily:
“It would be nice if you brought supplies every time. 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 scolding. And when you thought about it, that was its own kind of family happiness.
