“But when will I get to see grandchildren? You’re too focused on your career, and I’m worried you’ll never settle down. Don’t you want a family someday?”
Megan sighed, gripping the wheel a little tighter as she tried to keep calm. She loved her mother, but this conversation was becoming all too familiar.
“Mom, I really can’t talk about this right now,” she said, faking a crackle in her voice. “The signal’s bad. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
Before Dina could continue, Megan quickly ended the call, feigning static noises to make it seem like the connection had failed.
She glanced down at the phone and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
Pulling into her driveway, Megan parked the car and stared at her house for a moment.
She felt drained, both from the conversation with her mother and from the past few weeks.
What was supposed to be a restful vacation had turned into yet another working trip, with her phone constantly buzzing with problems at work.
For the entire month, she hadn’t been able to fully unplug. She didn’t even know what “rest” meant anymore.
After grabbing her bags from the trunk, Megan walked inside her dimly lit house, too tired to bother turning on all the lights.
She set her bags down by the door and paused for a moment. Something felt off. Glancing around, she noticed that one of the windows on the first floor was slightly open.
Puzzled, she tried to remember if she had left it like that before leaving for her trip. She shrugged it off, assuming she had simply forgotten to close it. It had been a busy month, after all.
Megan shut the window, turned off the last light on the first floor, and headed upstairs.
She barely had the energy to change into her pajamas. She kicked off her shoes, not even bothering to check if everything was in order.
Without thinking, she collapsed into her bed, letting her head sink into the pillow.
The familiar comfort of her bed was a relief, and within moments, Megan was fast asleep, her mind already letting go of the chaos of the day.
Little did she know that tomorrow would bring an unexpected surprise—one she never could have anticipated.
The next morning, Megan was jolted awake by the buzzing of her phone. Half-asleep, she groaned as she answered it, recognizing the overly enthusiastic voice of her assistant, Lisa.
Lisa’s high-pitched chatter filled her ears, rattling off a long list of meetings and tasks for the day at a speed that made Megan’s head spin.
“Lisa, please… slow down,” Megan mumbled, trying to focus as she stumbled out of bed. She held the phone between her ear and shoulder while getting dressed, lazily brushing her teeth, and starting her coffee machine.
The warmth of the coffee was barely hitting her system when something made her stop mid-sip—loud snoring coming from the living room.
Her body tensed as her brain struggled to process what she was hearing. Who is in my house?
“Lisa, I’ll have to call you back,” she said abruptly, hanging up the phone before Lisa could respond. Heart racing, Megan cautiously walked toward the living room, each step feeling heavier than the last.
Peeking inside, she couldn’t believe her eyes. A man—fully dressed with boots still on—was sprawled across her couch, snoring loudly.
Dirty footprints trailed from the window she had closed the night before to where the man now lay. Megan’s mind raced with questions. Who is this guy? How did he get in?
Her eyes narrowed, and without thinking twice, she darted to the kitchen, grabbing the nearest weapon she could find: a broom.
She marched back to the living room and jabbed the man with the handle.
He stirred, groggy and confused, blinking as he rubbed his eyes.
“Who are you?” Megan demanded, doing her best to keep her voice steady despite the panic rising in her chest.
The man, still half-asleep, sat up slowly. “Uh… I’m George,” he muttered, his words slurring together. “How did I get here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing!” Megan snapped, frustration mixing with confusion. “Why are you on my couch?”
George blinked, clearly disoriented, as he looked around. “I don’t remember much… I was out with some friends, and then… nothing. I guess I drank too much.”
Megan sniffed the air and immediately recognized the stale scent of alcohol. It didn’t take long to piece together what had happened—George had been blackout drunk and somehow ended up in her house.
Her anger started to fade, replaced with a mix of disbelief and reluctant sympathy.
“Well, you’re lucky I didn’t call the police,” she said, setting down the broom. “Take these.”
She handed him a bottle of aspirin and watched as he gratefully swallowed a couple of pills.
“I need to leave for work, but this time make sure you use the door when you go. Not the window.”
George, still looking sheepish, nodded. “Thank you… and I’m really sorry.”
Megan sighed. “Just… don’t make a habit of it.” With that, she grabbed her things and headed out the door, leaving George to process his own mess.
That evening, Megan drove home after a long, exhausting day at work. Her eyes felt heavy, her body sore from sitting in meetings and staring at screens for hours. Her stomach growled in protest, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything substantial all day.
There hadn’t been a single free moment to stop for groceries, and she sighed at the thought of coming home to an empty fridge.
As Megan walked into the house, she froze. The familiar smell of her dim living room was replaced by something unexpected—the soft glow of candles flickered around the room, casting a warm, inviting light.
The dining table, which she had left bare that morning, was now set with plates, silverware, and an array of delicious-smelling dishes.
At the center of it all stood George, looking slightly awkward and sheepish but also determined. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he saw her expression.
“What is this?” Megan asked, her voice a mixture of shock and confusion.
George shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“I… I felt really bad about what happened this morning,” he explained, his voice soft. “So I cleaned up the mess I made, and I wanted to cook you dinner. You know, to make it up to you.”
Megan blinked, still processing the scene before her. She had expected to come home, collapse onto the couch, and figure out how to deal with her hunger.
Instead, she found this—a stranger who had passed out on her couch that morning, now standing in her living room with an entire meal prepared.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she said, still a bit in disbelief.
“I know,” George replied, “but I wanted to. It’s the least I could do after… well, everything.” He offered a small, apologetic smile.
George began to gather his things, ready to leave and give her space, but Megan stopped him.
“Wait,” she said softly, not wanting him to rush off just yet.”
You’ve already gone through all this trouble to make such a nice dinner. Stay and have it with me. I can’t eat all of this by myself, anyway.”
George hesitated, his uncertainty clear.
“Are you sure? I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Megan smiled warmly, her exhaustion from the day fading just a little. “Yes, I’m sure. Besides, it would be nice to have some company.”
They both sat down at the table, and as the scent of the warm food filled the air, Megan couldn’t help but feel a surprising sense of calm.
The hectic day seemed to slip away, replaced by an evening of unexpected comfort.
They sat down at the table, the soft glow of the candles creating a peaceful atmosphere. As they began to eat, the earlier tension seemed to melt away with each bite.
George, now more comfortable, started telling Megan about his wild night out with friends. He laughed as he explained how too much fun and a little too much to drink had led him to her couch, of all places.
“I honestly didn’t even realize I wasn’t home until I woke up this morning,” George chuckled, shaking his head.
“And when I saw you standing there with a broom, I thought I was in serious trouble.”
Megan couldn’t help but laugh along, her earlier frustration fading with each word.
The stress she had carried home after a long day at work seemed to vanish, replaced by the simple joy of sharing a meal and a conversation with someone who made her laugh. It felt like a break from the routine, like a breath of fresh air.
For the first time in what felt like ages, Megan felt completely relaxed. George was easy to talk to, and the conversation flowed naturally. They joked, swapped stories, and enjoyed the food he had so thoughtfully prepared.
Groom’s Mom Kicks Out Bride’s Poorly-Dressed Parents at Wedding, She Barely Recognizes Them Later
When her son wants to marry a poor girl, a snobby mother becomes furious and invites her parents to the wedding on the grounds that they don’t appear classy enough.
She was shocked to learn that Clara Wellington’s son intended to wed a poor girl from Montana when he returned from college. She questioned, “But who are her parents?” “How do they operate?”
Brad, her son, questioned, “What does that matter?” “The only thing that matters to me is that I love Frannie.” Clara sealed her mouth shut. Naturally, birth and social standing were important factors. For Clara, at any rate, they were everything!
Clara’s worst fears were realized when she and her husband, Brad Senior, met Frannie Heckle and her parents. Clara assumed that the Heckles were not what she wanted as her son’s in-laws, but rather what her father-in-law would have called “salt-of-the-earth” folks!
Mrs. Heckle liked painfully vivid flowery house dresses and white plastic shoes, whereas Mr. Heckle was a tall, burly man who wore a light blue suit that pouped at the knees and elbows.
Clara trembled. They would need to take action over their attire! She refused to let them ruin the wedding by coming off as the hicks that they so obviously were! When she told her husband as much, she was taken aback by his response.
Brad Senior had remarked, “Leave them alone, Clara,” using a tone of voice he didn’t usually use around her. “Brad genuinely cares for this girl, and these are good people.” It makes no difference what they wear!
Clara was infuriated by her husband’s inability to recognize the significance of projecting the proper image and making the appropriate impression. Her son would become a prosperous man and a member of the city’s elite eventually.
Don’t downplay your origins or try to be someone you’re not.
Clara was determined that this wedding would be a huge success and that no one would make fun of her only son’s wedding. She knew that people would be talking about it for years to come.
Mrs. Heckle and Frannie were asked to lunch by Clara, who took great pains to explain to them the significance of their attire.
“Mrs. Heckle, I believe you ought to reconsider your image. You ought to visit Bloomingdales; there are several reasonably priced off-the-rack items there that would suit both your husband and you well.
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