If you don't mind....

Are there any other four words in the English language, when strung together, that can make you internally cringe as much?  Usually they are the preceding line to a request that one would mind doing (i.e. giving your cat a pill, assisting with a pre-op enema, carrying something heavy, helping a friend move).

So last week wasn't a banner week for me.  Work is making me exorcist-crazy (for confidentiality reasons can't get into it but needless to say my glass was completely empty, no half-way about it!), and a fellow school parent was making ridiculous requests for their allergic child the day before our bbq (seriously, that post would have gotten me lynched but I've come off the ledge since then).  But just when I was wondering if I'd have to write the music post along comes my MIL (mother-in law for those who aren't in the know).

Now my history with this woman isn't sterling. As much of a bitch and sarcastic as I can be, she's got crazy all wrapped up.  This is nothing new and we deal with it as best we can, although it almost came to a crescendo recently, we've pushed past that.

Just to give you some back story so today's post makes some sense, five years ago my FIL (do the math), celebrated his 60th birthday.  He's a wonderful man who's quiet soul speaks volumes, especially considering the circus he's lived with for 43 years.  The IL's have a huge party, everyone's invited.  If you met them in the grocery store, they'd invite you.

Day of big party arrives and MIL has decided that the SIL and I will be the servers/food preps/security/bar tenders/clean up crew, while she visits all her friends and family (much to SIL's and my surprise).  So we hit the ground running, organizing food for 80, appropriate placement of buffet, clean up etc.  As the FIL is giving his speech, he thanks everyone for coming and celebrating, MIL for having party, etc, etc,.  He's a man of few words so the speech is short but heartfelt.

After everyone has left and he's opening his gifts, MIL LOOSES HER FUCKING MIND!  I mean, completely postal.  Up one side of us all and down the other.  We're ungrateful, unhelpful, she wasn't thanked for her part in organizing this party, why does she bother blah, blah, blah. You get the picture.

Now there are six grown adults and two small children completely frozen in the living room as she rants and shouts, bangs around and finally leaves in a huff.  "What the fuck was that about?" questions one brave soul.  "Obviously Mother doesn't feel that she was the centre of attention nor thanked enough for her effort today and felt we all should know that." answers another.

Seriously?!? The SIL and I did all the hostess duties, she visited and ate and sat back and took all the credit!  Then she screams at her (long suffering) husband for not acknowledging her (enough) and ruins his birthday!  You actually see him shrinking.  White-hot anger floods me but, coward that I am, I say nothing in the face of this storm. Vowing never to allow her to do that again to him (or anyone else), I promise myself to stand up the next time that happens (and no doubt it will at some point).

Fast forward to Sunday. 

FIL has decided he wants a 65th birthday celebration.  (Did I mention that his b-day is July 1st?). So invitations were sent, potluck, July 2nd (yes the Saturday of the long weekend).  Sigh, okay it's family, we're going. No problem.  Figuring that we could bring dessert (which I'm quite good at ) I offer. "Oh, your hubby said he'd do a turkey." is MIL's reply.

WTF?!? Not sure when this is getting done.  Friday our city always has a big day down at the beach for July 1st complete with fireworks.  We're usually down there the whole day, back for dinner, and down again for fireworks.  Party is Saturday at 2.  When are we cooking a turkey?  I pose this question to hubby, who informs me that he'll take care of it (which he will, he does a better turkey than I do but you can't exactly leave the oven on for four hours and leave).  (Okay, I have issues leaving the room with the crockpot on, fuck off and stop laughing at me.  I have a healthy fear of death by fire).

Then, as we're hanging outside on Father's Day afternoon before dinner, I'm folding laundry and the MIL and hubby are chatting.  I'm politely ignoring as I'm running in and out of the house and can't really participate in the conversation.  "What time does the party start?" innocently asked hubby. I continue to fold laundry. "It starts at two, but if you don't mind, I was hoping you could come early to help." is the reply. "Sure", he says.  I continue to fold laundry muttering curses and threats under my breath.  I know this game, I've played before. I prefer euchre.
"What do you think Mel?" asks the MIL.  Bite tongue, bite hard. "Well we come as a set so I guess I'll be there too." <---- actual reply. 

I now realize that I've been conscripted, again, to run the show.  The woman should have worked for the British Navy convincing young men to have a quick pint.  Unfortunately I saw my silver piece too late.

So I'll put on appropriate clothing knowing that I'll be prepping/serving/cleaning and generally running the backstage portion of the show again, with no billing.

But this time there won't be a repeat performance of crazy train. I'll stand up for us all this time.

Oh, and I found out that the BIL and SIL can't come that weekend, lucky ducks, they'll miss all the excitement.  Wonder if I can get a wicked case of chapeau tete between now and then?

Sniff, sniff, feeling sick, maybe I should stay home.......

Mel

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JRbPWcLode0