My mother-in-law substituted extra-spicy chicken for my mild chicken at a family outing, humiliating me in a crowded restaurant.

As my lips burned and Linda smirked, I planned a dinner to give her a lifelong lesson!

It began on a family outing. We were at a popular hot chicken restaurant that promotes sweating.

Sorry, but my husband Jake and his mother, Linda, enjoy these venues. Me? Not so much. I need milk to handle black pepper.

We surrounded a wide table. Jake, his mother Linda, her husband Bob, and Aunt Carol were there. The area was busy, with the smell of fried chicken and spices.

As we sat down, I could feel the tension rising. Linda made everyday tasks seem like a challenge.

“What are you getting, sweetheart?” Jake asked, smiling encouragingly.

I said, “Lite mild chicken tenders,” to seem confident. “I think I can handle that.”

Linda grinned. Little mild? Come on. Try expanding your palate. Live a little!”

Forced a smile. Linda, I’m living. My spice tolerance is low.”

Our waitress arrived with a pen to take our orders. Jake started, then me, then Linda. Her usual order was the “reaper” level, the hottest.

“Go big or go home, right?” I was pointed at by Linda.

I focused on the menu and ignored her, attempting to avoid the sarcastic remarks that followed. I was relieved when she excused herself to use the restroom.

The dinner arrived soon after Linda returned. Steam from the dishes made my stomach churn with hunger and anxiety as I absorbed the pungent smell. I took a tentative bite of a delicate and—

Oh. My. God.

Fire. Pure heat in my mouth. My hands shook when I dropped the tender.

“Water!” I choked. “I need water!”

Jake stared worriedly at me. “What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t reply. As I drank water, tears fell, but it was like using a water gun to extinguish a forest fire. Through my tears, I saw Bob and Carol enjoying themselves. I saw Linda’s contented smile.

“You okay, honey?” she inquired, seeming worried.

The revelation hit me like a ton of bricks as I glared at her. “You did this, didn’t you?”

Without hiding her joy, Linda shrugged. Maybe you should learn to bear heat, sweetie. Good for the soul.”

Jake was confused. “Mom, did you switch her chicken?”

Linda chuckled. “Calm down. Just for fun. She’ll learn not to be fussy next time.”

I wanted to shout. I wanted to throw the remaining chicken at her arrogant face. But I didn’t. So I let it go—for now. I wouldn’t imitate her in public. No, I’d wait and plan something better.

I felt humiliated leaving the restaurant. It kept biting me. Each time I thought about Linda’s happy smile, my blood burned.

But what should I do?

Within days of Linda’s birthday, inspiration struck. I’d teach her an unforgettable empathy lesson.

My great-uncle told us about his youth in Central America, where he was born. Some of his hometown’s meals used Zophobas morio, or superworms.

These are real worms, and they’re tasty. He considered them delicacy. Linda considered them the ultimate test.

I carefully planned the supper for days. To ensure Linda was with respected people, I invited close family and friends. The traditional menu had aromas and elements Linda would likely find unusual and possibly challenge her.

I wanted my birthday meal to be special.

On dinner day, I was nervous and thinking of every conceivable scenario. The house smelled of spices and herbs, and the table had colorful plates.

The highlight was my great-uncle’s Zophobas morio meal. I ensured perfection.

As guests arrived, the house was full of discussion and laughter. Jake, my supportive spouse, squeezed my shoulder as he greeted everyone. Linda entered, examining the place with piercing eyes.

“What’s on the menu?” she said casually but curiously.

“Oh, just some traditional dishes from my great-uncle’s recipes,” I smiled. “I thought you’d enjoy trying something new.”

Linda nodded despite narrowed eyes. “Sounds interesting.”

Everyone chatted at the dinner table. When the first entrée arrived, murmurs of appreciation flooded the room. Linda took little pieces and nodded, intrigued.

“This is quite different,” she said. “But it’s good.”

Relief filled me, and I smiled. This might not be too horrible. The superworm dish was the main course.

The dishes were carefully set in front of each person, saving Linda’s for last. Her eyes opened and her face paled when she saw foreign components.

“Is this…what I think it is?” She questioned shakily.

“Yes,” I pretended to be innocent. “Some Central Americans eat it. Quite the experience.”

Linda paled as she viewed the plate. Can’t eat this. This is excessive.”

“Why not, Linda?” My tone was light when I asked. My relative is from Central America, where this is traditional meal. Stop being choosy.”

Her eyes widened at the knowledge. Everyone felt the tension as the room quieted. Linda sighed and stared at me with annoyance and respect?

“I…I suppose I could try a bite,” she hesitantly picked up her fork.

She took a small bite, surprised and uncomfortable. “It’s…different.”

Nodding, I spoke softly. “It’s an acquired taste, but it’s important to be open to new experiences, right?”

There was silence as everyone watched the conversation. Linda dropped her fork and moaned.

“I get your point,” she whispered. “I suppose I haven’t been very considerate of your preferences.”

Jake frowned at us. “What’s going on?”

Linda turned and spoke softly. “I’ve been so set in my ways, I didn’t realize how it affected others. I haven’t been fair to her.”

There was a collective sigh of relief around the table. I felt a weight lift off my shoulders, the tension easing. We continued the meal, the conversation slowly picking up again. Linda and I exchanged small smiles, a silent understanding passing between us.

After dinner, we moved to the patio for coffee and dessert. The atmosphere was relaxed, the earlier tension forgotten. As we sat down, Linda turned to me, her expression serious.

“I owe you an apology,” she said, her voice sincere.

“I’ve been so focused on my own tastes and preferences, I didn’t consider how it made you feel,” she continued.

I was taken aback by her honesty. “Thank you, Linda. That means a lot to me. I know we have our differences, but I want us to find common ground.”

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I do too. I realize now that respecting each other’s backgrounds and tastes is important. I’m sorry for being so harsh.”

“It’s okay,” I said, feeling a wave of relief. “I appreciate you saying that. Let’s make an effort to understand each other better.”

We hugged, and for the first time, it felt genuine. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter and shared stories. As the guests began to leave, I felt a sense of accomplishment and hope for the future.

Over the next few weeks, Linda and I made a genuine effort to understand and respect each other’s preferences.