Misadventures with the Soon-to-be Mother-in-Law

I chose overdosing on my mother vs. overdosing on my soon-to-be mother in law.
It is like choosing to ingest rat poison over drinking Drano.

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“We have to go over every detail of the wedding today,” my mother says.
“Really?” I say. “Really, every detail?”
Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE wedding planning. I fucking love it. The planning, the organizing, the lists-all are right up my OSD (ish) ally.
However, I avoid “going over every detail” of the wedding with my mother like the plague.

LIKE THE PLAGUE.

Instead, I watch five movies in one day and constantly check my cell for texts/OKCupid for messages. However, no one is texting, not even my fiance, because it is Fourth of July and they all have lives.

I am still depressed.
Obviously.

My fiance took his kids to his parent’s, who live in a Lake house in No-where, TN.
We just got back from their place the week before last.
I chose overdosing on my mother vs. overdosing on my soon-to-be mother in law.
It is like choosing to ingest rat poison over drinking Drano.
[That reminds me of the movie “Heathers” right now and I put that on my list to continue the binge- watching. Corn nuts. Yeah!]

Last time I was at the soon-to-be parents-in-law’s house, his mother criticized everything. EVERYTHING.

My fiance wants it to be like a vacation when we go there, but it is more like a psych ward.  (And I should know, I have been in the psych ward three times, but that’s another story. Or several stories).

So, one night we decide to cook dinner for everyone, just me and him. Except mom-in-law can’t leave the kitchen because then she wouldn’t be able to control everything.
Anyway, my fiance wants me to cut the green peppers in long strips, so I do.

(And, yes, this is minor thing, but sometimes, its the minor things that just push you over the edge.)

So, his mother does not say, “thank you for cooking,” instead she says (knowing I cut the veggies), “these bell peppers are cut too large.”
That is the first thing she says about the meal.

WHO THE FUCK CARES, LADY?

Just break them into smaller pieces on your plate and say “thank you.”   That is what normal people do. My mother said, later, you should just say back something like “Oh, soon-to-be mother in law, you are right, I like how you cut yours better.”

WTF.

If I wanted to be a fake bitch, then maybe.

Later, I tell fiance that she is this way and he’s basically like “I know.” But very supportive and sweet. Because that is how he is. Almost perfect. And at least there’s that.

 

 

Author: Madison

I am a thirty-eight year-old kinky feminist in recovery from Schizoaffective Disorder, Bipolar type; PTSD/Dissociative Disorder, NOS; Substance Use Disorder, just trying to make it in life. My blog is about my day-to-day misadventures and musings.

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