My trials with the MIL continue. I know she means well. I really do. But sometimes I wish she’d think before she opened her big fat mouth.
Case in point. We were there for dinner the other day and this gem, directed at the DH, came out her mouth.
MIL: Son, you drink too much pop.
DH: Yes mom, I probably do.
MIL: It makes you fat. It’s all the sugar.
DH: (rolling his eyes since it’s diet pop) Ok mom. You’re right.
MIL: You need to exercise more. I know you’ve been busy at work but you’re too fat. You shouldn’t drink pop.
DH: Yes mom I know.
MIL: But it’s ok to drink it at my house when you come over.
Clearly MIL subscribes to the theory that calories consumed in someone else’s house are empty. I wish. At least though, she didn’t accuse me (and my cooking) of making DH fat but then giving him half her dinner because he is a hungry man who likes his meat, like she did a few months ago at a wedding.
Second STFU moment occurred shortly after the you’re-too-fat-stop-drinking-pop-but-it’s-ok-at-my-house. I told DH prior to us going there that if he left me alone at the dinner table with the MIL I would stab him with my fork. Yes, MIL and I have been getting along better but I just can’t face more grilling re: babies and what’s happening (uuummm…nothing until at the very least late October, unless we somehow win the conception lottery between now and then) and I am tired of hearing her bitch about FIL’s side of the family. Yeah I don’t like them much either but I don’t care to hear the SAME DAMN STORIES EVERY OTHER WEEK! Ahem.
So DH stuck it out and stayed with me, thus fending off any awkward questions about babies (she won’t ask infront of him because he’d be embarrassed…but apparently it’s ok to embarrass me) but getting insulted for his pains. When out of nowhere MIL tells me that she’s arranged for her 80 year old aunt to meet me at the rinky dink airport in Greece (not Athens…that sadly is not my final destination) when I arrive. At 7:10 am. After two days of flying. Because we are both blonde. Me and MIL’s aunt that is. WTF that has to do with anything I don’t know but that’s how these people think. I kid you not.
Now. I don’t do well in the morning. I am a creature of the darkness and would happily sleep until 2pm and stay up until sunrise if I had the option to do so. Unfortunately, my employer requires my presence in the office from 9ish to 5ish and they really do frown upon me sleeping at any point during the work day. So unfair I know. However, they pay the bills and I have a lot of bills so I try to go to bed at a decent time Monday to Friday so I can haul my ass in for 9am. Not to mention that it’s difficult to get a good sleep on an airplane and five airports in two days means LOTS of shortish flights and NOT lots of sleep.
I also require coffee in the morning to function at a level that is close to human. Now, I don’t need a ton of coffee to feel human but I do need more than that ridiculous dixie cup amount airlines seem to think is sufficient to get people’s blood moving. And yes Flight Attendant, it actually IS part of your job description to bring me more coffee/water/pop/juice if I ask for it once the drink cart has been up and down the aisle.
Finally, I generally don’t like people. Oh, I act civilly to strangers and all (you never do know when flight attendants will spit in your coffee if you are a pain-in-the-neck passenger) but let’s face it, most of DH’s family will never make my long list of people I’d choose to spend a lot of time with.
So to recap….flying for two days to spend part of my vacation with the crazies, arriving at an ungodly hour with messed up circadian rhythms, minimal amounts of caffeine to make me human AND I’m scheduled to meet some other crazy relative (they are ALL crazy) who I have never met, at a strange airport for a “short” visit. Oh and did I mention there’s still a two hour drive until I get to my final destination where the rest of the nutters will be waiting for me? I’m sure you will be less than surprised to hear that this is not my idea of a good time.
When I get off that plane I want will want to hug the DH (he leaves a week before me), eat some real food, have a shower and sleep for 18 hours straight. Not necessarily in that order. Meeting some old lady who I never knew existed (DH had no idea either) does not even come close to being a viable option and I don’t care what colour her hair is.