As if we could forget, the MIL has announced that her birthday is fast approaching. Wasn’t it just a few months ago that we celebrated it? Jesus! For someone who is aging, past the retirement age, I’m not quite sure why she feels such a strong need to celebrate. But I suppose it’s not the birthday celebrating she cares about. It’s celebrating HER. I’ve never in my life known anyone so self-important or self centered.
She calls my hubby, “You know, my birthday is coming.”
No-fucking-shit.
“Well, I’ve never been to insert very expensive restaurant here and R (FIL) and I are going. I’d love it if you guys could join us.” (note: Doesn’t want to celebrate birthday at home with grandchildren. Bitch.)
Don’t you love the backhanded, passive aggressive way she manipulates the situation? She pulled this shit on her milestone birthday last year. I wish my husband would grow a pair when it came to dealing with her bullshit! This is how I want the conversation to go.
“Yes, mother. I know your birthday is coming. You remind me every fucking year. Aren’t you getting a little too old to continue making a big deal out of it. You want to go WHERE? You do realize that I may not have a job in a few months and spending that kind of money is a little outrageous right now. Not to mention that we have to pay for a babysitter since you’re picking a restaurant that isn’t appropriate for kids. How about you get over yourself. And when you do we’ll be happy to celebrate over burgers and cake.”
And that’s the polite version.
I hate summer because I have to see her so often in such a short amount of time. I’m talking like every other fucking week. The FILs birthday dinner. E’s birthday dinner. E’s birthday party. Father’s Day. Her birthday. The SnoreFest (a.k.a. her boring family summer gathering that everyone loathes but her).
I requested from my husband last night that after the SnoreFest, we take a break from his mother, or at least I get a break from her. I’m on overload just thinking about it.
My therapy session. 