My Stepmom Told Me to Wash Dishes After Her Birthday Party Because I Didn’t Gift Her a Dishwasher – Karma Hit back for Her Audacity

When Mia’s stepmom, Trudy, organized a grand celebration for her 45th birthday, Mia found herself being the little assistant, managing everything behind the scenes. But, fortunately for Mia, fate had its own way of teaching Trudy a memorable lesson.

This tale could be straight out of a movie script where karma plays an essential role in making things undeniably fair.

Let me introduce you to our main characters:

That’s me, Mia. I’m a sixteen-year-old living with my dad and my stepmom, Trudy, in a suburban house. Trudy has been in our world for about two years, and let me tell you, she perfectly fits the role of a “wicked stepmother.” If you looked up “entitled” in the dictionary, you might just find her picture staring back at you.

Life with her feels very much like living in a strange reality show, minus the camera crews and definitely void of any paycheck to ease the challenges.

Dad, on the other hand, tries his best to stay out of the whole mess. He’s a firm believer in the philosophy of “happy wife, happy life,” even though it’s doubtful if Trudy ever finds true happiness. Her expectations are sky-high, always demanding the world to cater to her whims.

Now, let’s focus on that unforgettable Saturday. Trudy’s birthday bash was more akin to a wedding reception, honestly, with all its grandeur and pomp.

I must say, Trudy hung tightly on to the idea of her youth, especially on her 45th birthday. During the days leading up to her party, she walked around like she was royal.

As I prepped a fruit smoothie one morning, Trudy breezed into the kitchen.

“Make sure to get me a special gift this year, Mia,” she declared, eyeing the fruit I was cutting. “A dishwasher would be lovely, considering everything I’ve done for you.”

Ah, typical Trudy. If only bossing me around was something wonderful she’d done for me.

“Um, Trudy,” I responded while pouring yogurt into the blender, “I’m saving up for my prom dress.”

I knew exactly where this chat was leading.

Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief as if I’d uttered the impossible.

“A prom dress? Honestly, Mia,” she dismissed me with a wave of her hand. “This is absurd. You can find something cheap from a local store. A dishwasher is far more useful. Enough with the excuses.”

Excuses? The nerve! Expecting my entire savings to evaporate for an appliance she deemed necessary was beyond belief. Where was my fairy godmother?

She was the one persuading my dad that work was unsuitable for someone “my age.”

“Mia can babysit,” she recommended, boasting how this kept me “safe” within our neighborhood. But it also meant limited cash inflow.

Those prom dress savings stemmed from babysitting. Even if I scraped it all together, it wouldn’t buy a dishwasher, let alone a prom gown. Yet my heart was set on finding something special.

Jumping to the Birthday Event… The house was bustling! Caterers whirled around, an event coordinator was armed with a list, and floral arrangements valiantly rivaled those of any garden show.

To add to the chaos, I was mirroring duties like cleaning mirrors, readying the drink hubs. Slipping away quietly, I muttered under my breath, “Is the Royalty attending?”

Setting the beverage eightball, I disappeared into my realm of teenage solitude, ready to become party-appropriate before Trudy’s clique arrived.

Trudy switched gears into a diva as her crowd rolled in. Sauntering with a grin, she graciously absorbed compliments as if gracing the Oscars!

“Mia, dear, replenish those drinks!” she commanded, her voice drifting over the party tent.

Resistance was futile. Surrounded by onlookers, rebellion wasn’t an option, not unless I wanted an explosive scene.

I complied, moving discreetly. Eagerly anticipating cake-cutting as indications the day was nearing its end.

Amidst ducking within the shadows for food, Liv Drew, my father, uncovered my clandestine nibbling.

“Grabbing a bite, Dad,” I said, savoring decadent lobster mac.

“Have a respite, Mimi. Enjoy. I’ll fetch you a milkshake soon,” he smiled.

The cake moment arrived, candles flickering under Father Drew’s touch.

Trudy’s wide-eyed joy reflected the Cheshire cat’s delight as applause echoed, and with a whimsical jig, she extinguished the day’s star players: candle flames.

Rounding out the day, the clink of fork against chalice drew silence.

“Mia, no dishwasher for your mom? At least handle the dishes,” she proposed with her notorious look.

Caught off-guard, the room’s hush was all-consuming, eyes accusing me as the day’s antagonist.

Yes, she openly declared it amid her social circle!

“No gift, Mia? That’s improper,” Trudy’s pal, Alexis, quipped. Her words stung.

Masking outrage, I stood firm.

Trudy, as uttered, “The funds, Mia! A dishwasher’s cost exceeded intent.”

“Pointless chatter, Mia”, Trudy’s response implied.

Under duress, the task at hand—dish duty—beckoned. Toils wore numb fingers, but liberation was a vision worth holding.

Post-party completion, drained, I sought refuge in sleep’s embrace.

A startle shook me awake. Trudy’s screech reverberated from below. A newly possessed coffee machine seemed defeated by unseen forces upon examination.

In disbelief, I stumbled upon a kitchen inundated and the ominous noir of artificial scent.

“Mia,” Trudy, arms waving, proclaimed, “An inexplicable sabotage!”

“The pipes released destruction,” Dad sighed. Bewildered, Trudy confessed to disposing of party remnants through ill-fated channels.

Dad scolded, “No, Trudy! Mismanagement hastened this accident. Hot water, not chemical aid!”

Stifling laughter, here’s karma’s justice.

Amid Trudy’s woes, folly danced within me, but speech was unnecessary.

With the kitchen under repair for weeks and dwellers adjusting to changes, Father Drew assured my dreams of prom with a heartfelt gift.

“$500 for Mia’s dress,” Dad declared amid Tenacious responses, like Trudy’s discontent.

Father claimed rightful dedication, “For every celebration enjoyed, my daughter’s event will shine.”

In newfound maturity, Trudy sought reparations.

“I’ll accompany your dress hunt, Mia,” she extended an olive branch.

Could it last?

What’s your take?