I blinked. Flooding? That didn’t sound right. She lived in a freshly renovated house, nothing but top-tier everything. I hadn’t heard a single complaint about it until now.
Before I could even begin to process, Joe appeared behind me. He looked guilty, eyes darting anywhere but at me. “Yeah… about that.” He rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly shifting his weight. “Mom’s gonna stay with us for a bit. Just until the house gets fixed.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?” I asked, my glare piercing.
He shrugged like it was no big deal. “It’s only for a little while, babe. You and Mom get along, right?”
Get along? If by “get along,” he meant the passive-aggressive remarks about how we’d been married for six years and still hadn’t given her any grandkids, then sure. We were best friends. But I plastered on a smile, the kind you give when you’re two seconds away from snapping. “Of course. I totally understand.”
Hours later, after I’d pretended everything was fine, I got up for some water. As I passed the kitchen, I heard them talking in hushed voices.
“You didn’t tell her the real reason, did you?” Jane’s voice was sharp, like a knife slicing through the night.
Joe sighed. “No, Mom. I didn’t.”
“Well,” Jane huffed, “I’m here to keep an eye on things. Married this long with no children… someone’s got to figure out what’s going on. Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”
My stomach twisted. This wasn’t about pipes. She was here to snoop. To pressure me about kids. To “handle” me. I stood frozen in the hallway, blood boiling. What the hell had I just walked into?
The next morning, I woke up with a plan. If Jane wanted to play her little game, I’d play mine. But I wasn’t going to get into a battle of wits with her. No, I was going to kill her with kindness. By 8 a.m., I had already started phase one of my “operation.”
I cleared out our entire master bedroom. Every piece of clothing, every picture frame, every trace of Joe and me was stuffed into the tiny guest room. I even found Jane’s favorite floral bedspread from the back of the linen closet and spread it over the bed like I was preparing a five-star hotel suite.
When I was done, I stood in the doorway, surveying my work. The bedspread was pristine, her cat pictures were lined up on the dresser, and to top it off, I made a “Welcome to Your New Home” basket. Bath bombs, lavender-scented candles, fancy chocolates.
By the time Joe got home from work, I was already sitting in the cramped guest room, arranging our clothes into whatever space I could find. He walked in, his forehead creased with confusion. “Why are you in here?” He peeked around the corner. “Where’s our stuff?”
“Oh, I moved everything,” I said, turning to him with the sweetest smile I could muster. “Your mom deserves the master bedroom, don’t you think? It’s only fair. She needs the space more than we do.”
His eyes widened in disbelief. “You… gave her our bedroom?”
“Of course,” I said with a grin. “She’s family, after all. We’ll be just fine in here.”
Joe stood there, mouth half open, processing what I’d done. But what could he say? Jane was his mother, and I wasn’t technically doing anything wrong. He sighed and walked out of the room without another word.
For the next few days, I made sure Jane was living like royalty. Fresh towels every morning, little snacks placed on the nightstand, and those lavender candles I knew she loved.
She wandered around the house like she owned the place, smiling at me like she’d won. But while Jane was lounging in luxury, Joe was starting to crack. Sharing the guest room was driving him nuts. Not just the lack of space, but his mom’s new obsession with prepping him for fatherhood.
Every morning, without fail, she’d hand him a schedule of vitamins.
“You need to take these, Joe,” she’d say, thrusting a multivitamin at him. “It’s important to get your body ready if you want healthy kids.”
Joe would roll his eyes but take the pills just to keep her quiet.
It didn’t stop there. “Should you really be watching TV at night?” she’d ask over dinner. “That’s not very baby-friendly. You should be reading parenting books. Or exercising. And no more video games! You need to mature, Joe. Fatherhood is serious.”
By day four, I found Joe sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at a stack of parenting books his mom had ordered online.
“I think I’m losing it,” he muttered, holding up a book titled “What To Expect When You’re Expecting.” “She expects me to read this.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Well, Joe,” I said, suppressing a laugh, “you did say we’d be just fine, didn’t you?”
It was relentless. Jane had taken things up a notch. One evening, she handed Joe a neatly typed list of “fertility-boosting” foods. Kale, quinoa, grilled salmon—no more burgers, no more pizza. She smiled sweetly as if she was doing him the world’s greatest favor.
“Your future kids will thank you,” she chirped.
Joe stared at the list like it was a death sentence. “Wait, no pizza? Ever?”
“That’s right, dear,” she said, patting his shoulder. “I’ve planned all your meals for the week. You’ll feel so much better once you start eating clean.”
That night at dinner, we sat around the table eating dry salmon and tasteless kale. Jane watched Joe like a hawk, her eyes flicking from his plate to his face. He shifted uncomfortably, picking at his food.
“Joe,” she started, “did you take your vitamins this morning?”
He sighed, stabbing a fork into the kale. “Yeah, Mom. I took them.”
“And what about the gym? Did you make time for that? You know, you’ve put on a little weight. It’s important to be in shape if you want to be a good father.”
I couldn’t help it. I kicked him under the table to stop myself from bursting out laughing. He shot me a look, his expression torn between frustration and desperation. After days of this, it was finally getting to him.
Later that night, once Jane had gone to bed, Joe turned to me, rubbing his temples. His voice was low, almost pleading. “I can’t do this anymore, Tiana. The guest room, the vitamins, the baby talk… I’m going insane.”
I bit my lip, trying to suppress a smile. “You have to admit,” I said, failing to keep the amusement out of my voice, “it’s kind of funny.”
His eyes narrowed. “It’s not funny.”
I let out a small laugh. “Okay, okay, it’s a little funny.”
Joe groaned and collapsed onto the bed. “I booked her a room at the hotel down the street. I can’t take another day of this.”
The next morning, he broke the news at breakfast.
“Mom, I’ve booked you a nice hotel nearby until the repairs at your house are done. You’ll be much more comfortable there.”
She blinked, clearly surprised. “But I’m perfectly fine here! And besides, isn’t it time you two got serious about giving me grandkids?”
Joe’s jaw clenched. “Mom, we’ll decide that when we’re ready. For now, the hotel is best for everyone.”
For a moment, Jane just stared at him. Then, realizing she had no leg to stand on, she reluctantly nodded. “Well… if you insist.”
By the end of the day, she was gone. The house was ours again.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Joe collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic sigh of relief. “Finally.”
I grinned, sinking down beside him. “So… kale for dinner?”
He groaned. “Never again.”
What Are Witches’ Stairs? A Simple Explanation of This Strange Home Design
Witches’ stairs are a strange but interesting design feature that became popular on TikTok a couple of years ago. Even though they have an unusual history, their name doesn’t really have to do with superstition. Instead, these stairs are a clever design choice. When made and installed correctly, they can be both useful and nice to look at!
Witches’ Stairs aren’t what they Appear.
While the stories about witches’ stairs might sound more interesting, they actually have a very practical purpose. They are really useful in homes with little space, like attics, lofts, and tiny houses. Witches’ stairs are designed to save space while still allowing you to go from one floor to another. Architects often call them “alternate tread stairs.”
How Witches’ Stairs Function
Photo Credit: itsthatrealestatechick | TikTok
Witches’ stairs are designed to save space in two ways. First, each step is only half as wide as regular steps, and the steps are staggered. This makes the staircase narrower than a traditional one. These smaller stairs can also be used for extra storage, like for books or displaying items. According to Scott Schuttner, who wrote “Basic Stairbuilding,” the distance between the steps on one side of an alternating-tread stair is twice the height of the rise, which gives you more space on the steps and makes them safer.
Besides being practical, witches’ stairs meet building codes and safety standards in the U.S. A standard staircase is usually 3 feet wide, while a residential witches’ staircase is typically between 27 and 30 inches wide.
Real Origins
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In 1985, a businessman named J.M. Lapeyre created a metal version of witches’ stairs. He thought these stairs could be a safe alternative to ladders in commercial and warehouse settings, especially in tight spaces where ladders might not be safe. This design is also used on commercial ships and oil rigs, and it can be called ship stairs or ship ladders, in addition to witches’ stairs and alternate tread stairs.
Misconception
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When videos of witches’ stairs first appeared on TikTok in 2021, they were linked to an urban legend. According to this legend, these staircases were built in 17th-century Massachusetts to keep witches away during the Salem witch trials because “witches can’t climb up them.” This idea has been proven false, but another rumor suggests that Thomas Jefferson came up with the design. Because of this, witches’ stairs are sometimes called Jeffersonian or Jefferson stairs. However, an original version of the design was also mentioned in a book called “Monckton’s One Plane Method Of Hand Railing and Stair Building,” published in 1888.
Debunking the Myth
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The exact origins of witches’ stairs are a bit unclear, but one thing is clear: there’s no historical evidence that they were designed to keep witches away. Historian Robin Briggs has studied many historical sources and found no mention of stairs that could disable witches. Interestingly, some people with these unique staircases also buried “witch bottles” or included dead cats in their homes for protection against witchcraft, but Briggs calls this idea “pure disinformation.” He notes that the closest belief was that putting a broom over the door would trap a witch inside.
While it’s fun to think about myths and legends, it’s also interesting to know the real history of witches’ stairs. Regardless, they offer a unique and decorative alternative to regular staircases, adding a fun and quirky touch to home design.
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