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Why You Should Marry An Orphan ...
(The Continuing Saga) by Memphis Saltos My
mother-in-law has an equine face that could curdle milk. She has a
leathery complexion that I have often said is a compelling
advertisement for SPF 30 sun block. She maintains a radical delusive
self-centeredness that causes conflict and pain to everyone around her.
I used to wish she would die an early death. I kept hoping for a car
accident, a routine liposuction mishap -- lots of things can happen to
vain mean old women, you know.
My mother-in-law considers anyone who cannot afford two homes either lazy or stupid and likely Democrat. She told us that people from Berkeley were bums who never worked and just wanted handouts from people who did work (like Republicans). She recites constantly how Clinton was an idiot and caused the current recession, Reagan tactics were the 90’s boom, and that Kerry is a flip-flopper. She continually demonstrates great gaps and leaps in knowledge that occur when one gets most of their information from watching Hannity and Colmes. She reads Ann Coulter as if it wasn't a piece of fiction. She does not have conversations, only harangues that parrot right-wing punditry as she sits in her expensive clothes surrounded by her flowered wallpaper, $500 vases, and store bought antiques. Gawd, she’s obnoxious. There was a time I felt the only way to ignore her was with a blindfold and heavy-duty intoxicants. After a visit to her palace I would lie on my couch and listen to Joy Division with the lights off... I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead. Now we don't talk or have any interaction except when absolutely necessary. I never find it absolutely necessary. When she starts her diatribes I abruptly leave the room out of courtesy to myself and those around me. Upon arrival at her palace the first thing I see of her is her long and pointed nose peering out from her kitchen apparently smelling for my presence. She is a little scared of me now since I have turned into a formidable opponent. When I first came into the family she and two of her daughters (who have the collective IQ of lettuce and the personal charm to match) became pack animals intent on trying to rid themselves of what they perceived as the weakest and most undesirable link in their pure blood family. Their code name for me (as I overheard) was "Indian." I do not think it was meant to be an endearing family nickname. Apparently they interpreted my original niceness and innate southern courtliness* as weakness and therefore I was someone easily scared or intimidated. But in time I proved to be unshakeable and recalcitrant -- and the kind of person who took pleasure in seeing her mother-in-law falter and fray the tenuous ties to her family. And I had her only grandchildren, the ones she originally hated and wanted me to abort (yes, both of them...the second only because I got pregnant as part of a devious plan to ruin her daughter's wedding of course), at my side staring her down with me. There is no chance of me never having to visit her godforsaken hellhole anytime soon, though I've whittled it down to once or twice a year. So come Thanksgiving (my punishment for avoiding her for a year) I will take a deep breath, raise my mongrel chin a little higher, and walk into that place with an exaggerated regal pose as the 1/4 Quicha princess that I am. * Southern courtliness is the act of being nice to everyone just in case one day you fall from your totally undeserved high throne on the top pedestal and need the less deserving people to whom you were once gracious to help you out. |
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