“My Stepdaughter Treated Me Like a Maid… So I Turned the Tables on Her”
I live with my husband, Tom. A few months ago, his 22-year-old daughter, Kayla, moved in after finishing college—“just for a little while,” they said. Of course, we agreed.
Biggest mistake ever.
From day one, she acted like this house was her personal Airbnb and I was just the maid. Cereal bowls left on the couch, makeup wipes shoved into the sink, banana peels tucked under the cushions like some weird art project.
I stayed polite. I asked nicely, “Kayla, can you please clean up after yourself?” But all I got was the usual—eye rolls, dramatic sighs, and dead silence.
And Tom? Completely useless. “She’s just adjusting,” he said. “Don’t nitpick.” Sure, Tom. Let’s just live in chaos.
Then came Sunday. I spent the entire morning deep-cleaning the living room—vacuumed, dusted, wiped everything down. It finally looked perfect.
I stepped away for ten minutes… and when I came back? Trash everywhere. Soda cans, takeout bags, orange Cheeto dust ground into the rug.
And there was Kayla. Feet kicked up on the coffee table, scrolling her phone like nothing happened.
She didn’t even look at me when she said it—“Hey… make pancakes.”
That was it. Something snapped.
If she wanted to treat me like a maid… then fine. I was going to be one. But not the kind she expected.
The next morning, I left a note on her bedroom door. It read:
“Welcome to the Clean Queen Service!💅 Rates are as follows:
• Dishwashing – $10 per load
• Laundry – $15 per basket
• Living Room Reset – $25
• Trash Pick-Up – $5 per item (banana peels count double)
• Pancakes – $20 per serving”
And at the bottom, in bold:
“All payments must be made upfront. No exceptions.”
At first, she thought I was joking. She actually laughed. Until she came downstairs to find that the dishwasher was still full, her laundry untouched, and the living room looking exactly how she left it.
She groaned, “Are you serious?”
I handed her an invoice. “Dead serious.”
She stomped back upstairs, fuming. Tom tried to step in, but I handed him an invoice, too. “You’re welcome to help her pay.”
And guess what? By the end of the week… miracle of miracles… banana peels disappeared, makeup wipes found the trash can, and Cheeto dust became a thing of the past.
Turns out, when laziness starts costing money, motivation suddenly appears.
I’m not saying I fixed everything… but I haven’t seen a cereal bowl on the couch since.
