When the “Monster-in-Law” takes over the house, steals the $1,000 face cream, and the husband finally finds out why you don’t touch the wife’s expensive skincare the hard way! 😱🧴💥

… he was staring into the mirror, clutching the sides of the sink, his face a bright, chemical burn red. Patches of his beard—his pride and joy—were dissolving and falling into the sink in gross, melting clumps.

“My face! It burns! What is in this?!” he yelled, pointing a trembling finger at my jar of $1,000 face cream sitting open on the counter.

I grabbed the jar and sniffed it. It didn’t smell like rare orchids and silk anymore. It smelled like sulfur and rotten eggs.

“That smells like industrial-strength hair remover,” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a truck.

Just then, Linda appeared in the doorway, wearing my silk robe, holding a cup of coffee. She looked at Daniel, then at the jar, and her eyes went wide.

“Oh,” she said, remarkably calm. “You used the cream.”

“Mom!” Daniel roared, turning to face her, half his beard gone, the skin underneath angry and red. “What did you put in this jar?!”

Linda actually had the nerve to roll her eyes. “Well, I ran out of my leg cream during the ladies’ night, and I saw that fancy jar. It was nearly empty anyway—I only used a little bit more—so I filled it back up with my prescription-strength depilatory cream so [OP] wouldn’t notice the volume difference. I didn’t think you would go snooping in your wife’s things, Daniel!”

Silence filled the hallway.

She wasn’t apologizing for stealing my $1,000 cream. She wasn’t apologizing for chemically burning her son’s face. She was blaming him for using it.

For ten years, Daniel had made excuses for her. “She’s lonely,” he’d say. “She means well,” he’d insist. But as he stood there, his face throbbing and his beard decimated by his mother’s selfishness and deceit, the fog finally lifted.

“You refilled a thousand-dollar jar of face cream… with hair remover… to hide that you stole it?” Daniel said, his voice terrifyingly quiet.

“It was just a little swap! Don’t be dramatic,” Linda scoffed, tightening the sash of my robe. “I’ll buy you some aloe.”

“Get out,” Daniel said.

Linda froze. “Excuse me?”

“Get out. Now,” Daniel barked, pointing to the stairs. “Take your things, take your ‘ladies night’ leftovers, and get out of my house. I don’t care about your pipe. Go to a hotel.”

“You can’t treat your mother like this! My house is flooded!” she shrieked, playing the victim card she always kept up her sleeve.

“I don’t care if your house is underwater, Linda!” Daniel shouted, dropping the ‘Mom.’ “You have disrespected my wife, invaded our privacy, stolen from us, and now you’ve physically injured me because you couldn’t admit you stole some damn lotion. You have one hour.”

Linda tried to cry. She tried to plead. But Daniel walked back into the bedroom, picked up her suitcase, and threw it into the hallway.

An hour later, she was gone.

The kicker? Daniel called a plumber friend to check on her “burst pipe” so he’d know when she could go back. The plumber went to her house and called us back ten minutes later.

“There’s no burst pipe,” the plumber told us. “The water main is off, but everything is bone dry. Neighbors say she’s been bragging about getting her house painted and floors redone this week and wanted to save money on a hotel.”

Daniel put the phone down and looked at me. He looked ridiculous with his patchy, red face, but I had never loved him more.

“Change the locks,” he said, handing me his credit card. “And buy two jars of that cream. I owe you.”

My life is peaceful again. My closet is organized. And Linda? She’s currently staying at a Motel 6, waiting for her paint to dry. We haven’t answered her calls since.