When an entitled couple refused to pay my Dad, a hardworking plumber, they thought they were clever. Little did they know their smugness would backfire, leaving them with a bathroom crawling with regret. Here’s how my Dad flushed their entitlement down the drain.
Hey there, folks! Phoebe here, but you can call me Pippi — that’s what my Dad does. Speaking of which, let me introduce you to Pete: 55 years old, ruggedly handsome with a white beard and hands like a roadmap of hard work. He’s your friendly neighborhood plumber and my superhero without the cape.
Close-up of an older man smiling | Source: Midjourney
Dad’s the kind of guy who treats every job like it’s his own home, redoing entire bathrooms if a single tile is off. But some folks see that dedication and think they can take advantage. That’s exactly what a pair of entitled homeowners tried to do.
Oh, but they had no idea who they were messing with.
It all started a few months back when I swung by Dad’s place. I found him on the patio, puffing away on his cigar and laughing like he’d just heard the world’s funniest joke.
A plumber installing pipe fittings | Source: Pexels
“What’s got you in such a good mood, old man?” I asked, plopping down next to him.
Dad’s eyes twinkled as he said, “Oh, Pippi, you’re not gonna believe what just happened. It’s a doozy!”
Dad leaned in, still chuckling. “Remember that bathroom remodel I was working on? Well, let me tell you about the Carlyles, or as I like to call ’em, the Pinchpennies.”
I settled in, knowing this was gonna be good. Dad’s stories always were.
A bathroom interior | Source: Unsplash
“These folks, they wanted the works. New tiles, fancy fixtures, you name it. They picked out every little detail themselves… even down to where they wanted the toilet paper holder.”
“Sounds like a dream job,” I said.
Dad snorted. “Oh, it started that way alright. But then…”
His face darkened, and I knew we were getting to the good part. “What happened, Dad?” I asked.
An older man fixing a faucet in the bathroom | Source: Midjourney
“Well, Pippi, on the last day, just as I’m to start the grouting, they’re sitting on this couch, ready to pull a real fast one on me.”
Dad’s voice took on a mocking tone as he imitated Mrs. Carlyle. “‘Oh, Pete, this isn’t what we wanted at all! These tiles are all wrong!’”
I gasped. “But didn’t they pick everything out themselves?”
“Exactly!” Dad exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “And get this — they had the nerve to tell me they were only gonna pay half of what they owed me. HALF!”
An older couple sitting on the couch | Source: Pexels
My jaw dropped. “HALF?? After two weeks of busting your hump to get their dream bathroom done. No way! What did you do?”
Dad’s eyes glinted mischievously. “Well, I tried to reason with ’em at first. But they weren’t having any of it. Mr. Carlyle, he gets all puffed up and says, ‘Just finish the job and GET LOST, Pete. We’re not paying a penny more.’”
I could feel my blood boiling. “That’s not fair! You worked so hard!”
A shocked young woman holding her face | Source: Pexels
Dad patted my hand. “Now, now, Pippi. Don’t you worry! Your old man had a trick up his sleeve.”
“What did you do?” I leaned in, eager to hear more.
Dad’s grin widened. “Oh, I finished the job alright. But instead of using water for the grout…”
“…I mixed it with sugar and honey,” Dad finished, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
I blinked, trying to process what I’d just heard. “Sugar and honey? In the grout? But why?”
A bottle of honey near a small mound of powdered tile grout | Source: Midjourney
Dad leaned back, taking a long drag on his cigar. “Just you wait and see, Pippi. Just you wait and see.”
He went on to explain how he’d packed up his tools, pocketed half the pay, and left with a smile, knowing full well what was coming next.
“But Dad,” I interrupted, “wouldn’t they notice something was off with the grout?”
A smiling older man holding a toolbox | Source: Midjourney
He shook his head, chuckling. “Nah, not right away. It looked just fine when it dried. But a few weeks later…”
I leaned in, hanging on his every word. “What happened a few weeks later?”
Dad’s grin widened. “That’s when the real fun began.”
“Picture this,” Dad said, gesturing with his cigar. “The Pinchpennies are sitting pretty, thinking they’ve pulled a fast one on old Pete. Then one day, Mrs. Carlyle goes to take a shower, and what does she see?”
Smiling older couple holding ceramic mugs | Source: Pexels
I shrugged, totally engrossed in the story.
“Ants!” Dad exclaimed. “Dozens of ’em, marching along the grout lines like it’s their own personal highway!”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “No way!”
“Oh, it gets better,” Dad continued. “Next day, it’s cockroaches. Then every creepy-crawly within spittin’ distance shows up for the party.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “That’s crazy! But how do you know all this?”
Close-up of an army of ants on a bathroom floor | Source: Midjourney
Dad winked. “Remember Johnny? My old pal? He’s their next-door neighbor and has been keeping me updated.”
“And the Carlyles?” I asked. “What did they do?”
Dad’s eyes sparkled with glee. “Oh, Pippi, they tried everything. Spent a fortune on pest control, but nothing worked. You wanna know the best part?”
I nodded eagerly.
A pest controller outside a house | Source: Pexels
“They blamed the pest control sprays for ruining the grout! Can you believe it?” Dad burst into laughter.
As Dad’s laughter died down, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the Carlyles. “But Dad, don’t you think that was a bit… harsh?”
Dad’s expression softened. “Pippi, you gotta understand. These people tried to cheat me out of my hard-earned money. Two weeks of backbreaking work, and they wanted to pay me half?”
I nodded slowly. “I get it, but still…”
Close-up of a stunned woman | Source: Pexels
“Look,” Dad said, leaning forward. “In this line of work, your reputation is everything. If word got out that I let clients walk all over me, I’d be out of business faster than you can say ‘leaky faucet.’”
I had to admit, he had a point. “So what happened next?”
Dad grinned. “Well, according to Johnny, they ended up redoing the whole bathroom about a year later.”
My eyes widened. “Did that solve the problem?”
A man working on a renovation project | Source: Freepik
Dad shook his head, chuckling. “Nope. The sugar residue was still there, lurking beneath the surface. The bugs just kept on coming back.”
“And the Carlyles?” I asked. “Did they ever figure it out?”
Dad’s eyes twinkled. “Not a clue. Last I heard, they were planning to redo the entire bathroom… again.”
I sat back, taking it all in. “Wow, Dad. That’s… something else. But didn’t you feel bad at all?”
Construction worker laying ceramic tiles | Source: Freepik
Dad sighed, his expression turning serious. “Pippi, let me tell you something. In all my years of plumbing, I’ve never done anything like this before. And I hope I never have to again. But these Carlyles, they weren’t just trying to cheat me. They were insulting my work, my pride.”
I nodded, understanding dawning. “They thought they could walk all over you.”
“Exactly,” Dad said, pointing his cigar at me. “And in this business, word gets around. If I let them get away with it, who knows how many other folks might try the same thing?”
Side view of an older man looking up | Source: Midjourney
“I guess I see your point,” I admitted. “But still, bugs in the bathroom? That’s pretty gross, Dad.”
He chuckled. “Well, I never said it was a pretty revenge. But it was effective.”
“So, what happened after that?” I asked, curious. “Did you ever hear from them again?”
Dad shook his head. “Nope. But Johnny keeps me updated. You should hear some of the stories he’s told me.”
“Like what?” I leaned in, eager for more.
Ants near a bathtub | Source: Midjourney
Dad’s eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Well, there was this one time Mrs. Carlyle was hosting a fancy dinner party. Johnny said he could hear her screaming all the way from his house when she found a cockroach in the guest bathroom!”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh man, that must’ve been embarrassing!”
Close-up of a cockroach on a bathroom sink | Source: Midjourney
“You bet it was,” Dad chuckled. “And then there was the time Mr. Carlyle tried to fix the problem himself. Bought every bug spray in the store and went to town on that bathroom.”
“Did it work?” I asked, already guessing the answer.
Dad shook his head, grinning. “Nope. Just made the whole house smell like a chemical factory for weeks. And the bugs? They came right back as soon as the smell faded.”
Close-up of gloved hand holding disinfecting solution | Source: Freepik
I shook my head in disbelief. “Unbelievable. How long has this been going on?”
“Oh, must be going on over a year now,” Dad said, puffing on his cigar. “Johnny says they’re at their wits’ end. Talking about selling the house and moving.”
I whistled low. “Wow, Dad. That’s some long-lasting revenge.”
Side view of a cottage with a beautiful garden | Source: Unsplash
He nodded, a hint of remorse in his eyes. “Maybe it went on a bit longer than I intended. But you know what they say about karma.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s a real… well, you know.”
We shared a hearty laugh at that.
Close-up side view of an older man with his eyes downcast | Source: Midjourney
As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the patio, I sat back, processing everything Dad had told me.
“You know, Dad,” I said slowly, “I gotta admit, that’s pretty genius. Diabolical, but genius.”
Dad nodded, a satisfied smile on his face. “Sometimes, Pippi, you gotta teach people a lesson they won’t forget.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, I bet the Carlyles won’t be trying to stiff anyone on their bill anytime soon.”
Close-up grayscale shot of a smiling woman | Source: Pexels
“You got that right,” Dad chuckled. “And every time Johnny gives me an update, I get a good laugh out of it.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the sky turn pink and orange.
“Hey, Dad?” I said finally.
“Yeah, Pippi?”
“Promise me one thing?”
He raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
Side view of an older man smiling | Source: Midjourney
I grinned. “If I ever need my bathroom redone, I’m paying you in full upfront.”
Dad burst out laughing, pulling me into a big bear hug. “That’s my girl!”
As we sat there, laughing and watching the sunset, I couldn’t help but think about the Carlyles and their bug-infested bathroom. It was a reminder that sometimes, karma comes with six legs and a sweet tooth.
An older man laughing | Source: Midjourney
Here’s another story: When a couple turned Toby’s 14-hour flight into a nightmare, he taught them an unforgettable lesson in airplane etiquette.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
My MIL Started Coming to Our House in Latex Gloves, Saying She Was Disgusted to Touch Anything – The Truth Was Much Worse
When my MIL started visiting wearing latex gloves, claiming she was “disgusted to touch anything,” it felt like a slap in the face. I was juggling newborn twins and exhaustion, yet her judgment pushed me to the brink. But one day, a ripped glove revealed a shocking secret she’d been hiding.
When my perfectionist MIL, Marilyn, first started wearing latex gloves while visiting, I was too exhausted to think much of it.
An exhausted woman resting on a kitchen table | Source: Midjourney
The twins, Emma and Lily, were two weeks old, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept more than two hours straight.
At first, I’d managed to keep up with the housework between naps and caring for the twins. But now, the days blurred together in a haze of baby powder, formula, and endless loads of laundry that never quite made it from the dryer to our dresser drawers.
Marilyn’s house was always immaculate, but I’d never held myself to such high standards. Besides, the babies were my priority now. I assumed Marilyn would understand that, but it seemed I was wrong.
A woman resting on a sofa holding her twin daughters | Source: Midjourney
Every one of Marilyn’s visits followed the same pattern. She’d arrive precisely at ten in the morning to “help me out” wearing her perfectly fitted latex gloves and make a beeline for the kitchen.
But she didn’t seem to be doing much in the way of helping me. Sometimes she unpacked the dishwasher or folded laundry, but mostly she just walked around the house, moving things here and there.
One day, I couldn’t take it anymore!
“Marilyn,” I said, “why are you always wearing gloves lately?”
A person wearing latex gloves | Source: Pexels
The silence that followed felt endless. Marilyn’s eyes darted to the side and her brow crinkled as though I’d asked her a complicated math problem.
Then she said something that devastated me.
“Your house is just so messy and dirty,” she said. “It’s disgusting. I’m afraid to touch anything with my bare hands.”
I stood there, holding Emma against my shoulder, her tiny body warm and real while my mother-in-law’s words echoed in my head.
A woman holding a baby | Source: Midjourney
I was too shocked and hurt to reply, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what Marilyn said. Later that night, after we’d finally gotten the twins down, I tried to talk to Danny about it.
“I’m sure she doesn’t mean it like that,” he said, not meeting my eyes as he cleaned a spot of baby spit-up on the carpet. “Mom’s just… particular about cleanliness and keeping things tidy.”
“Particular?” I laughed, but it came out more like a sob. “Danny, she’s wearing surgical gloves in our home. What’s next? A mask and scrubs?”
He sighed, running his hands through his hair. “What do you want me to do? She’s my mother.”
A man spot-cleaning a carpet | Source: Midjourney
After that, I became obsessed with cleaning. Between feedings and diaper changes, I scrubbed and organized like a woman possessed.
I’d stay up long after the twins fell asleep, wiping down surfaces that were already clean, reorganizing cabinets that didn’t need it, desperate to create some semblance of the perfection Marilyn seemed to demand.
The house smelled perpetually of bleach and baby powder. Nevertheless, Marilyn kept arriving with her gloves.
A woman wearing latex gloves standing in an entrance hallway | Source: Midjourney
“You really should consider a cleaning service,” she said one afternoon. “It might help with… all of this.”
Her gesture encompassed the entire room: the basket of unfolded laundry, the stack of unwashed bottles, and the scattered baby toys that seemed to multiply overnight.
I bit my tongue so hard I tasted blood. Behind me, Lily started to fuss, her tiny face scrunching up in preparation for a cry that would surely wake her sister.
A baby lying in a crib | Source: Pexels
The invisible weight of Marilyn’s judgment pressed down on my shoulders as I hurried to soothe my daughter.
Weeks passed, and the twins were starting to smile — real smiles, not just gas. They were developing personalities: Emma, the serious observer, and Lily, our little comedian.
Danny and I were on the couch, watching them play on their mat, enjoying one of those rare perfect moments when both babies were content and quiet.
Marilyn arrived for her usual visit, the soft swoosh of her designer slacks announcing her presence before she even spoke.
A woman wearing latex gloves | Source: Midjourney
She set her bag down, surveying the room with her critical eye. “Oh, I see you’ve cleaned a bit. Good effort.”
Her gaze fixed on the roses Danny had bought for me yesterday. She immediately honed in on the bouquet, changing the water in the vase and rearranging the flowers. I didn’t pay her much attention until a sharp ripping sound broke the silence.
Danny and I both turned. Marilyn’s glove had torn, and through the gash in the latex, I glimpsed something that shocked me.
A woman on a sofa staring at something in shock | Source: Midjourney
Marilyn had a tattoo on her hand! Not just any tattoo, but a heart with a name inside it: Mason. That flash of ink seemed impossible for my proper, perfect mother-in-law.
Marilyn quickly stuffed her hand into her pocket, but it was too late. Danny and I exchanged puzzled looks.
“Mom?” Danny’s voice was careful, measured. “What was that on your hand?”
“I-It’s nothing,” Marilyn stammered, already turning toward the door.
“It isn’t.” Danny stood to face his mother. “Who’s Mason?”
A man in a living room speaking to someone | Source: Midjourney
She froze, her shoulders tight, and then her perfect posture crumbled.
“Mason… was someone I met a few months ago,” she began. Her voice was small, nothing like the confident tone that had delivered so many critiques of my housekeeping.
“He’s… younger than me,” she continued. “I know it’s crazy, but he was so charming. So sweet. He told me everything I wanted to hear. He told me I was beautiful, that I was special. I hadn’t felt that way in a long time, Danny.”
An emotional woman wringing her hands | Source: Midjourney
Tears began rolling down Marilyn’s cheeks, smearing her mascara. “After your father passed, I was so lonely, and Mason… he seemed to understand.”
“You’re telling me you… you’re dating this Mason guy?” Danny’s voice cracked.
Marilyn shook her head. “No! We were dating, but… I thought he cared about me, Danny. He convinced me to get this tattoo, told me it would prove how much I loved him, but…” Marilyn’s voice broke.
“What happened?” I asked softly. “You can tell us, Marilyn.”
A woman sitting on a sofa speaking to someone | Source: Midjourney
“After I got the tattoo… he laughed at me. Said it was a joke. Said he’d been wondering how far he could push the uptight widow. Then he left.”
The silence in the room was deafening. Lily chose that moment to coo softly, the sound almost jarring in its innocence. Emma reached for her sister’s hand, and I watched as their tiny fingers intertwined.
“I was so humiliated,” Marilyn continued, her words coming faster now. “I couldn’t let you see how stupid I’d been. The gloves… they were my way of hiding it. Every time I looked at this tattoo, I saw my own foolishness staring back at me.”
An emotional woman hanging her head | Source: Midjourney
Danny moved first, stepping forward to hug his mother. “Mom… I don’t even know what to say. But you didn’t have to go through this alone.”
I looked at Marilyn, really looked at her. Behind the perfect makeup and coordinated outfit, I saw something I’d never noticed before: vulnerability. The weight of her secret had been crushing her, just like the weight of new motherhood had been crushing me.
We’d both been drowning in our own ways, too proud or scared to reach out for help.
A woman with a thoughtful look on her face | Source: Midjourney
“We all make mistakes,” I said softly. “But we can’t let them define us.”
Marilyn turned to me, her carefully constructed facade completely shattered. “I’ve been so hard on you. I didn’t want to face my mess, so I focused on yours. I’m sorry.” Her voice caught. “The twins… they’re beautiful, and you’re doing an amazing job. I’ve been terrible, haven’t I?”
Tears welled in my eyes as I nodded. “Let’s move forward. Together.”
A smiling woman standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney
As if on cue, both twins started fussing. Without thinking, Marilyn peeled off her remaining glove and reached for Emma.
Her hands were perfectly manicured, with that small heart tattoo telling its own story of human imperfection. For the first time since the twins were born, I felt like we could be a real family.
Later that night, after Marilyn had gone home and the twins were asleep, Danny found me in the nursery.
A woman in a nursery glancing to one side | Source: Midjourney
“You know,” he said quietly, “I think this is the first time I’ve seen Mom cry since Dad died.”
I leaned against him, watching our daughters sleep. “Sometimes we need to fall apart before we can come back together stronger.”
He kissed the top of my head, and I felt something shift between us — a new understanding, perhaps, or just the recognition that perfection isn’t nearly as important as connection.
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, when I found Marilyn’s discarded latex gloves in our trash, I smiled. Some messes, it turns out, are worth making.
Here’s another story: When my 12-year-old son Ben took up our wealthy neighbor’s offer to shovel snow for $10 a day, he couldn’t wait to buy gifts for the family. But when that man refused to pay, calling it a “lesson about contracts,” Ben was heartbroken. That’s when I decided to teach him a lesson he’d never forget.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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