Tuesday, February 09, 2010

Postmarked 7th circle of hell



They, and you (by which I actually mean ME ME ME ME ME!!!), are better off in their own little corners of the world. Or at least that's my immediate experience. A hypothesis now firmly grounded in the severity of reality and made into an iron-clad fact. This here = my corner, that one over there far, far away = the mil's niche. And we all can live happily ever after, like tradition, and Disney and each and every 80s teen movie, promise. And that Molly Ringwald, she wouldn't lie, would she?

So, please bugger off dear mama and let me have my prince already! The Viking's mine and no matter what you do, there is no way you will ever be able to shove him back up there. You know, up to Denmark, in case some of you were thinking I meant the uterus, which I did initially, but then I just decided to discard that image altogether lest it screw me up for good, so we'll just say Denmark. The sentiment still applies.

Between me and her (feel free to add your own disrespectful tone here) I prefer a distance of a few continents, and at least one whole ocean if at all possible, but I have heard - although this is something I would never personally accept or recommend - that a mere 'few countries to the East' is sometimes sufficient.

Well. Not for me. Still, like they say, bad things happen to good people.

And sometimes she (please amp up the disrespectful tone from before) is to be found right under one's nose. In one's spare bed. Loudly criticizing one's choice of linen, innards of the fridge (so the packet of crazy glue says to keep it in the fridge!), lack of tan, and the water pressure or the magical lack of it during her (you know the drill now) showers. And all that before the discussions about the ' unpalatable food of Africa' were ever even entered into.

But it's time to move on, she's (I know you know what to do...) gone. It's time to be generally glad that no one threw a punch or drew actual blood, intentionally or unintentionally, that doors have locks, that a car can drive you far, far away, that there was a fair amount of laughter, be it fake, distraught, to mask the tears or actual, that lions were being cooperative and not hiding in the bushes, giving everyone a welcome break from the evil eyes being shot left and right (I'm sure the lions never even knew what hit them), that regardless of not-so-veiled threats absolutely no one threw the poor daughter-in-law to them in best Roman style, that Spar sells wine early in the morning on a Tuesday, that a spot of archery and a wild imagination can relieve a pent up need to scream without any actual screaming, that world has coffee and alcohol and coffee-flavored alcohol in it, and that the Viking knows to take my (and only my) side.

And that my father-in law (who doesn't detest me nearly as much as I thought he did) and her (yada yada blah blah) managed to create someone I can call my bestest friend in the whole wide world, whom I love more than life itself, and to whom I'm the center of the universe without still quite figuring out how I manage to pull that off on a daily basis. And that he is the wonderful person that he is.

Thankful, yet homicidal.


Just give me a couple of days to retrieve my spirit from the top secret storage location (okay, the upstairs, master bedroom shower, that has excellent water pressure, I might add) I've had it shoved up into, to keep it safe from harm and any potential vampiristic, i.e. Hey-Zeus-help-me-this-woman's-sucking-every-single-drop-of-life-force-and-other-assorted-positive-things-right-out-of-me activities.

But I WILL be whole again.

And I'm still breathing.



My name is Erin. said...

It sounds like you've had to endure much more than I've had to in the the mil dept as of late... thank God... or Zeus... or cheese. But I did have a moment this morning due to a single question that has been asked (by her) and answered (by me) at least 5 times in the past 6 months, this time coming from her via my brother in law to me AGAIN. Mind you my answer has remained steadily the same. I wonder if there is a book on how to annoy and aggravate daughter-in-laws that is only issued on the day of the nuptials and if it's secret is divulged the son will explode, thus ruining both m-i-l and d-i-l's lives. P.S. I missed you.

Vancouver's Enviro Girl said...

Yep, there is not much more to be said. MIL's are from a special circle of hell. And stepmothers. I think they take them all off to school somewhere. Especially the one's who have sons, to extract as much pain and despair from the DIL as possible, and then a little bit more, just for fun.

Bored Housewife said...

Oh dear, you are so lucky that there is a long plane ride between the two of you. My MIL rides her bike the MILE to my house, tortures me, and will never die.

Myne Whitman said...

An old wives tale I assure you. About MIL's I mean, lol. Or maybe I speak cos min is 6,000 miles away?

caroldiane said...

ok, just because I actually hold the status of MIL, I will wade in here. Please don't paint us all with the same brush... when I texted my SIL at midnight on New Year's (because I knew HE would read the text and my daughter might not), he replied by saying that I was an "inspiration". Do you really think he was just saying that?! I like to think he meant it. I hope so, because I don't want to think that he would be posting a photo of a snake in the grass beside a comment about me?! SO glad you are back, having survived your MIL nightmare - trust me, I would not have questioned the contents of your fridge and would have happily drank wine with you.... xo

Not So Glamorous Housewife said...

I feel your pain, truly. As I read I thought perhaps we were married to brothers but then I thought perhaps I could leave it to that beast to have a secret son on the side AND be secretly from Denmark even though I originally thought she was from northern Indiana. Her hair is strangely unmoving and with every breath comes a slight air of disdain for me and my choice not to tuck my pant legs into my socks or wear snowman covered turtlenecks underneath my sweaters. I feel for you my dear internet friend across the ocean.

My name is Erin. said...

@Caroldiane- My guess is he meant it, since it took a fair amount of energy to text that back. I would have simply ignored it, if I didn't have anything nice to say back.

And in defense of some MIL's. My husband's Step-Mom, who raised him with his father, ROCKS! I love her and I admire her and I happily live 20 minutes from her. So there is hope... and I'm pretty sure my husband thinks my mom's pretty cool, too... but I could be wrong.

Not So Glamorous Housewife said...

Erin, perhaps someday I will be so lucky as to have my husband suddenly get a step-mom....hahahaha

julochka said...

oh dear...i'm very glad you survived and i'll admit i'd like to have been a fly on the wall or at least hanging out with your spirit up that shower-head (giving it wine, of course), to at least overhear some it. :-)

histreasure said...

nothing that lote of wine and coffee can't conquer..looks like you made it thru this one too..welcome back

Erin P said...

Hubby insists I would have loved his mother...(she's not alive). My first MIL was the worst: she'd act all sweet to you but then behind your back....stab!

Glad you lived through it. How often does this visiting happen? Any way you can cut back on that?

kanishk said...

you are so lucky that there is a long plane ride between the two of you.
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