My stepdad, Jeff, loved playing the “man of the house.” He’d remind us at every chance how lucky we were to have a roof over our heads because of him. But when his “special gift” for my mom’s birthday turned out to be a pack of toilet paper, my siblings and I decided enough was enough. Let’s just say that gift came in handy for someone—though not in the way Jeff expected.
Jeff had been in our lives since we were kids. Every dinner, he’d lean back in his worn recliner and deliver his favorite monologue: “You’re all lucky I’m here, keeping this house running.” My mom, Jane, would nod along, choosing peace over conflict.
She was the kind of woman who avoided arguments, a skill honed over years of tiptoeing around Jeff’s ego. My siblings—Chloe, Lily, and Anthony—and I didn’t buy into Jeff’s self-appointed title as “king of the castle.” Sure, he paid the bills, but his arrogance and condescending attitude toward Mom made it hard to respect him. We’d tried convincing her to leave him, but she wouldn’t budge. Eventually, we all moved out. Anthony lived across the country, but the rest of us stayed close, visiting often to check on Mom. Despite our efforts, we still worried about her.
Then Jeff took things too far. In the days leading up to Mom’s birthday, he wouldn’t stop boasting about the “special gift” he’d picked out for her. “This one’s going to blow her mind,” he said, grinning smugly during one of our visits. My sisters and I exchanged skeptical glances. Knowing Jeff, it was hard to imagine this gift being anything other than a bad joke. When Mom’s birthday arrived, we gathered in the living room, ready to celebrate. Jeff, looking unusually pleased with himself, handed her a large, beautifully wrapped box. “Go on,” he urged. “Open it!”
Mom’s face lit up with cautious excitement as she untied the ribbon and peeled back the paper. But when she saw what was inside, her smile faltered. A 12-pack of toilet paper. Four-ply. Jumbo rolls. “It’s soft, just like you!”
Jeff declared, slapping his knee and roaring with laughter. “And look—four-ply, one for each of your kids. Perfect, right?” Mom let out a nervous chuckle, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears. My sisters and I were stunned. It wasn’t just a bad joke—it was cruel. This was supposed to be a day about celebrating her, and he’d turned it into a mockery. We decided then and there that Jeff’s reign as “king of the castle” was over.
Two days later, we put our plan into action. Knowing Jeff couldn’t resist free food, we invited him to his favorite Chinese restaurant for a “family dinner.” Chloe, the youngest and most mischievous of us, had the idea. “We’ll set the stage at his happy place,” she said, grinning. “He’ll never see it coming.” Jeff arrived at the restaurant, puffing out his chest and grumbling about how it was “about time” someone else treated him. We smiled sweetly, holding back our eye rolls as we took our seats. The restaurant was buzzing, the air fragrant with spices and sizzling dishes.
Chloe, playing innocent, started ordering: Szechuan beef, Kung Pao chicken, and the spiciest mapo tofu on the menu. Each dish was loaded with enough chili to bring a grown man to tears. “You can handle spicy, right, Jeff?” she asked, her voice dripping with fake concern.
“Of course,” he scoffed, puffing out his chest again. “Nothing’s too spicy for a real man.” The dishes arrived, each one a masterpiece of fiery reds and rich aromas. Jeff dove in, determined to prove his “manliness.” At first, he exaggerated his enjoyment, letting out an over-the-top moan. But soon, his face turned redder than the lanterns hanging above us. Sweat poured down his forehead as he gulped down glass after glass of Coke.
“How’s it going?” Chloe asked sweetly. “Just clearing the sinuses,” Jeff managed to say, his voice strained. We bit back our laughter, knowing this was just the beginning.
Meanwhile, back at the house, Mom and Lily were hard at work with a rented U-Haul and a team of movers. They packed up Mom’s belongings—her clothes, keepsakes, and favorite chair. Chloe had insisted they take everything she’d bought Jeff over the years, including his beloved recliner. But the pièce de résistance? Every single roll of toilet paper in the house.
When Jeff and I returned home, his stomach was already rumbling ominously. He barely stepped inside before realizing something was off. “Where’s my recliner?” he barked, scanning the living room. “Gone,” Chloe replied, her tone casual. “Mom took what’s hers.” Jeff turned to us, his face reddening again, but before he could yell, his stomach betrayed him with a loud gurgle. Clutching his gut, he bolted down the hall. Moments later, we heard the bathroom door slam.
“WHERE’S THE TOILET PAPER?!” Jeff roared. We couldn’t hold back anymore. Laughter spilled out as we stood in the hallway. “Mom took that too!” I called out. “After all, it’s hers!” From behind the door, Jeff groaned. “You can’t leave me like this!” he yelled. Mom stepped forward, her voice steady and firm. “Watch me,” she said. “I’m leaving you, Jeff. I’m taking my things—and my dignity.”
Jeff called Mom endlessly in the days that followed, leaving voicemails full of fake apologies. She didn’t answer. Instead, Chloe had a brilliant idea. On Jeff’s birthday, we sent him a carefully wrapped gift: a jumbo pack of toilet paper, complete with a handwritten note: For a real man.
Mom moved in with Lily while she figured out her next steps. Anthony, hearing about the prank, called to tell us how proud he was. Jeff, meanwhile, is still complaining to anyone who’ll listen. But for the first time, Mom is free—and we couldn’t be happier.
