If you want to understand why family vacations rank just above dental work on the scale of adult dread, look no further than trips planned by Gran and Papa and powered by mixed messages. With every promise of «my treat» comes the quiet anxiety that the family credit card might morph into a personal loan agreement at any moment. Everyone’s smiling for the group text, but inwardly calculating costs, managing meltdowns, and wondering why you agreed to this getaway instead of finding a polite way to get away.

That’s the paradox of a grandparent-owned group trip: it’s advertised as a chance to make memories, but too often turns into a master class in uncomfortable compromise.

There’s always a last-minute revelation that the fabulous offer actually comes with fine print: someone wants to skip the theme park, someone else wants a casino, and suddenly, the only thing guaranteed is passive-aggressive commentary about hotel rooms, shifting finances, and blurred boundaries.

Who’s paying for what, and when exactly did this «gift» become a tab you’re supposed to settle?