The package sat on her porch for exactly 27 minutes before she opened it. I know because I timed it.

The meltdown that followed was the most glorious thing I’ve ever heard through a phone.

Totally worth the overnight shipping. Let me explain. My wife Jane is wonderful—smart,

funny, kind. We’ve built a happy, simple life together. Everything’s great… except for her mother, Celia.

Celia is the kind of mother-in-law who sees every gift I give Jane as a personal attack.

When I gave Jane a bracelet, Celia called me to complain she’s never gotten jewelry in 32 years of motherhood. A vacation?

She reminded us she hasn’t had one in “decades.”

Flowers from my late mom’s garden for Mother’s Day?

She called them “weeds.” Jane, always the peacemaker, chalked it up to loneliness and tried to include her more.

I tried too. But the passive-aggressive digs kept coming.

Then came the tarantula. Jane had recently fallen in love with weird gifts—geode lamps,

framed bugs, and yes, a pet tarantula named Rosie. She adored it. Celia, of course, had something to say:

“You spend your money on junk.” So I had an idea.

I ordered a second tarantula, complete with habitat, food, and a note:

Since you always want what Jane gets—enjoy! Love, Andrew.” The result?

Seventeen missed calls. Screaming voicemails. Full cartoon-style meltdown.

She screamed, dropped the box (don’t worry, the spider was safely enclosed), and made Jane’s brother come “banish” it.

Jane wasn’t mad—in fact, she laughed so hard she cried.

Best part? Celia hasn’t complained about unequal gifts since.

Moral of the story? If you’re going to demand equal treatment, be ready to get exactly what you asked for.