The Ultimate Room Swap

The tension at dinner was thick enough to slice with a steak knife. My in-laws sat across from us, their faces red with fury as they scrolled through the pictures my cousin had shown them.

“You mean to tell me,” my MIL seethed, “that **we** are stuck in a bungalow while **your parents** get to live like royalty?!”

I took a deep breath, keeping my voice even. “Mark and I booked bungalows for *everyone*. The villa was the **only one available**, so we took it.”

“But we’re **his** parents!” she shrieked. “We deserve the villa!”

My FIL nodded in agreement, muttering, “This is disrespectful.”

I shot a glance at my husband, half-expecting him to cave, but Mark just gave me a small nod—the **green light**.

That was all I needed.

The next morning, I made a call.

By **lunchtime**, the resort manager personally escorted my in-laws to their **brand-new** accommodations—just like they wanted.

A **sprawling** beachfront villa?
A **personal** butler?
A **spa-like** bathroom?

No.

I had them moved to a smaller **standard hotel room** on the far side of the island.

No ocean views. No private pool. **No slide.**

When they saw their new “upgrade,” MIL’s shriek could probably be heard from Tahiti.

“You can’t do this!” she wailed.

I smiled. “Oh, but I can. **You didn’t like the bungalow, so I fixed it.**”

Mark, standing beside me, let out a chuckle. “You’re welcome, Mom.”

For the rest of the trip, my in-laws fumed in their basic hotel room while everyone else—my parents, cousins, aunts, uncles—**lived it up in paradise.**

And our villa?

That slide?

That luxury?

**Never felt better.**