MY MIL WAS STEALING MY CLOTHES FOR MONTHS, MOCKING AND SELLING THEM ONLINE…TILL THANKSGIVING.
My MIL, Lucia, has been staying with us for months while her house is under renovation. Not long after she moved in, I started noticing some of my clothes disappearing—tops, bras, short dresses, skinny jeans—not just simple items, but my favorites.
At first, I thought I had misplaced them. But then I stumbled across a post on Reddit… featuring my clothes. I clicked on it and read the caption:
“My DIL’s rags. What kind of woman would wear SUCH TRASH?! Let’s see if anyone buys them—I’m putting these up for sale.”
The comments were a mix of criticism and people asking where they could buy the items.
I was FUMING!! Stealing my clothes, shaming me online, and selling them?! Oh no, mommy, you picked the wrong DIL to mess with.
On Thanksgiving, during dinner with both of our families (12 people in total), I raised a toast to thank Lucia. She looked confused.
I excused myself for a moment. But when I came back and she saw me, she spat her wine out like a FOUNTAIN.
I walked back into the dining room wearing one of the outfits she had stolen, mocked, and listed online—a bright red dress that she had referred to as “trashy and cheap.” But that wasn’t all. I had paired it with a slideshow presentation on my tablet that I placed on the table, showing her Reddit posts, complete with her captions and usernames.
“Lucia,” I said sweetly, raising my glass again, “I just wanted to thank you for inspiring me to re-embrace some of my favorite pieces—you know, the ones I thought I’d lost.” The room fell silent as the slideshow began automatically scrolling through her posts.
Her face turned an impressive shade of purple as the family leaned in to read the comments on the screen. My husband’s jaw dropped when he saw the photos of my clothes, complete with mocking captions like, “Can you believe a grown woman actually wore this in public?”
“Lucia,” my husband said, his voice low and dangerous, “is this real? You’ve been stealing her clothes? And selling them?”
Lucia stammered, looking for an excuse. “I—I was just trying to help! She has such… questionable taste! I thought I’d save her the embarrassment!”
I crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes. “So your idea of ‘helping’ was to steal my clothes, insult me online, and make money off them? Great logic, Lucia.”
My husband stood up, his face pale with anger. “You’ve been living in our home, eating our food, and doing this behind our backs? Unbelievable.”
The rest of the family sat in stunned silence, some awkwardly trying to sip their drinks, others whispering to each other. My husband’s sister finally spoke up, clearly trying to diffuse the tension. “Wow, Mom… that’s… next-level shady, even for you.”
Lucia’s voice rose in desperation. “I was going to give the money to charity!” she exclaimed, as if that would make everything better.
“Really?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Because I checked your Venmo history, and that money went straight to your account. No charity mentioned.”
The room erupted into murmurs, and Lucia’s face crumpled. She started blubbering about how she was under stress because of her house renovation, how she felt out of place, and how she didn’t mean to hurt anyone. But my husband cut her off.
“Pack your things,” he said coldly. “You’re going back to your house—renovation or not. You’ve crossed the line, and I’m not going to stand by while you disrespect my wife like this.”
Lucia gasped, looking around for someone to defend her, but no one did. Not even her own daughters. She tried to protest, but my husband was firm. “You’ve got until tomorrow morning to leave.”
After dinner, as everyone left, the atmosphere was thick with awkwardness. My husband and I sat down, both exhausted from the drama, and I finally let out a laugh.
“Did you see her face when she realized I had the receipts?” I said, grinning.
My husband sighed but smirked. “You’ve got to admit, you handled that brilliantly.”
By the next morning, Lucia was gone. And as I reclaimed the rest of my missing clothes from her suitcase (yes, she’d packed even more of them), I felt a sense of justice. From that day on, Thanksgiving became a story we’d never forget—and one that left Lucia too embarrassed to meddle in our lives again.
