My Daughter Called Me a ‘Desperate Old Lady’ for Getting a Tattoos at 75 — So I Did THIS to Her Husband Two Days Later (2 of 4)

My daughter.

She gasped the moment I walked into the family brunch. Clutched her chest like I’d walked in naked.

“What the hell did you do to yourself?” she said, staring at my arms like they were crime scenes. “You look like one of those desperate old ladies trying to stay relevant.”

I laughed at first. Thought she was joking. But then she turned to her husband—my son-in-law, Jake—and said, “Can you believe this?”

Jake didn’t answer. He just smirked. That lazy, dismissive smirk I’ve hated since the day they got married.

Now let me tell you something about Jake. He’s always acted like the smartest man in the room, even when the room’s half empty and he’s holding a Coors Light. I’ve kept quiet about him for years—for my daughter’s sake—but when they both turned on me, like I was some embarrassment to hide?

Something inside me snapped.

So two days later, Jake swung by to “check on me.” Said he was worried about my mental health. (Translation: he thought I’d lost my marbles.)

He sat on my couch, gave me a fake smile, and said, “You’re gonna regret that tattoos when you’re in a nursing home”.

I took a sip of my tea. Looked him dead in the eyes.

“You know what’s funny, Jake? That night five years ago when you brought a girl to my house while my daughter was out of town? I still remember her laugh. The way it echoed down my hallway.”