When my brother dropped off his spoiled sons to stay with me and my teenage son for two weeks, I braced for chaos — but I wasn’t prepared for the snobbery. They mocked our meals, insulted my son’s tech, and acted like royalty slumming it in a peasant’s cottage. I kept my cool — until one car ride forced a major reality check.
You know that gut feeling you get when you agree to something you shouldn’t? That hit me hard the moment my brother called with a “favor.”
“Hey, sis,” he said, in that sugar-coated tone that always means trouble.
Fresh off a big promotion, he was flying high and figured I owed him a break.
“Can Tyler and Jaden stay with you for two weeks? Amy and I are taking a much-needed luxury vacation. Don’t worry — Amy’s mom will take over for the third week.”
“You’re so great with kids,” he added. “It’ll be good for them.”
Against my better judgment, I agreed. Because, well… family.
Two days later, the boys showed up — sunglasses, designer luggage, and all the attitude of celebrities slumming it.
Tyler, 13, oozed superiority, and 15-year-old Jaden had a glare sharp enough to slice steel.
My son Adrian greeted them with a big smile and fresh cookies.
“Hey guys! Want a snack? Mom just made these.”
Tyler sniffed the air with a grimace. “Smells like… spaghetti?”
“That’s because I’m cooking it,” I replied, smiling through gritted teeth.
Dinner turned into a full-blown critique. Tyler poked the sauce suspiciously. “Is this canned meat?” Jaden chimed in, “Our chef does a garlic confit at home.”
Their chef. Of course.
I tried to make light of it. “Our chef — me — does her best on a teacher’s budget.”
Then came the laptop insult. Adrian, eager to connect, showed them his gaming laptop. Jaden laughed. “What is this? Windows 98?” Tyler added, “Can it even run Fortnite?”
That’s when I realized they weren’t just adjusting — they thought our life was beneath them.
The complaints didn’t stop: the beds weren’t up to their standard, the fridge had buttons, and the 55-inch TV was apparently prehistoric.
The worst part? Watching Adrian try so hard to be nice while they mocked everything he shared.
“Want to play outside?” Eye rolls.
“Want to see my Lego collection?” More sneers.
They acted like helping with dishes was manual labor. I held my tongue, counting down the days until I dropped them at the airport.
Finally, the last day came.
As they loaded into the car, I told them to buckle up. Tyler scoffed, “We don’t wear seatbelts. Dad doesn’t care.”
“Well, I do,” I replied, pulling over. “No belts, no ride.”
“You’re not serious,” Jaden said. Oh, but I was.
Trying to appeal to their language, I added, “It’s a $500 fine per kid in California.”
Jaden smirked. “Just say you can’t afford it, Aunt Sarah. We’ll get Dad to send the money.”
Tyler called their dad. “She won’t drive unless we buckle up,” he whined. “Can you send her the fine?”
Their dad didn’t play along. “Just wear the belts. What’s wrong with you?” he snapped, then hung up.
Still, they refused. So I shut off the engine, stepped outside, and stood by the car, arms folded.
Forty-five minutes of teenage sulking followed. Finally, Tyler gave in. “Fine! We’ll wear the damn seatbelts!”
But by then, traffic had built up. We got to the airport ten minutes after boarding ended.
Their stunned silence was golden.
My brother called before I left the airport — furious. “You made them miss their flight!”
I didn’t hold back. “Oh, am I supposed to break the law because your kids think they’re above it? Maybe if you’d raised them with some basic respect, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Click. He hung up.
The next day, Adrian showed me a message from Tyler: “Your mom’s insane.”
I just laughed. No, sweetie — I’m not insane. I’m just not your maid. There’s a difference. And you just learned it the hard way.
No regrets. Not the missed flight. Not the angry call. Not even the drama.
Because spoiled kids eventually meet reality. And in my car, reality wore a seatbelt.