What’s the most disrespectful thing a guest has ever done in your home?

The Forced Entry and Immediate Escalation

My entitled Aunt moved into my house without my permission. She stole my car while drunk and crashed it. I had her evicted and arrested, but my grandparents did everything they could to prove her innocence.

My aunt showed up at my door one day with all her things and a few rucksacks. She told me she’d be staying here for a while. The reason she ended up homeless is because she tried to steal from her previous landlord.

Knowing this, I tried to refuse her. Instead of respecting my word, she physically pushed me aside and walked in like she owned the place. I grabbed her hand and told her she wasn’t staying here.

She gave me a death stare.

“Yes, I am or else.”

I immediately gulped and let go. Given that she has been to prison for assaulting her boyfriend in his sleep, I put my head down.

Just three days into living with her, $250 went missing from my wallet. I once again tried to kick her out, but she refused. She said she has rights and isn’t leaving.

I called my grandparents in an attempt to get some help, but they sided with her. They said I should always help family. I was in disbelief, but I let her stay.

Days passed and things only got worse. My Aunt Diane also had an alcohol problem, and she drank every night. She emptied out bottles of wine that weren’t hers to begin with.

I wasn’t even much of a drinker, but she’d somehow found a stash I’d kept for special occasions. Most mornings the living room reeked of alcohol. I’d find her passed out on the couch with crumbs from whatever snack she had raided from my pantry.

She never asked if she could eat anything, of course. Diane had this way of assuming she was owed everything of mine just because she was family.

Then came the constant complaints. She didn’t like the towels I gave her. My pillows weren’t fluffy enough. She didn’t approve of the soap I used in the bathroom.

Everything was wrong, and she never hesitated to let me know. Then she had the nerve to start inviting people over.

One night I came home to find two of her old friends, who were also drunk, lounging in my living room like it was some kind of party. Diane was laughing loudly, completely unaware or maybe just indifferent to the fact that I was standing there fuming.

“She told me to make myself useful and to buy them some more gin.”

At that point, I was seriously losing my patience. Every time I thought about kicking her out, I knew my grandparents would be mad at me. They would give me the “she’s family, be compassionate” speech again.

If she was family and they wanted her to have a place to stay, they should let her stay with them and see if they still felt the same way. Diane was treating me like a doormat.

I tried to keep telling myself that maybe things would get better if I just held out a little longer. But I wondered how much longer I would have to wait.