girlfiend

Four is the number of nights we managed to stay at my mom’s before we couldn’t take it anymore. Well, before I couldn’t take it anymore. The french fry thing was bad, but when she made me and the Fiendling go for a trip to Sam’s Club with her, only she didn’t know where it was, it was kind of the last straw. It’s bad enough going to that hellhole, but after I’d gone in a 45 minute circle and we weren’t there yet and the Fiendling was crying and I was starving I thought I might kill her. I didn’t, even after I was forced to nurse the Fiendling while walking around the store. (Have I mentioned I’m good at multitasking?)

Then last night we watched My Date with Drew and I somehow managed not to kill her even when she spent the entire movie complaining about how creepy the guy Brian, who wanted the date with Drew was, even though he wasn’t creepy, he was just a big dork. The woman did not shut up for the entire 90 minute movie. Her voice makes me shudder.

Last night I overheard her complaining to Boyfiend about how unsophisticated my eating habits are because I didn’t like her cold cream of broccoli soup. Only I never said I didn’t like the soup. I’m sure she knew I could hear her, which is why she started whispering after she used the word unsophisticated. Such a bitch. Boyfiend insisted she didn’t say anything else, but I don’t know that I believe him. I just think he was trying to keep me from telling her that I’d hardly call her microwave cookbook recipes sophisticated.

I’m going to have to learn how to build up my resistance. She talks to hear the sound of her own voice and says the most ridiculous things which she immediately contradicts. And she’s mean. She picks fights. “Remember when you went on that bike trip? They called me and told me you cried because it was too hard. You were such a baby. Waah waah waah.” Um yeah, I remember that when I specifically said I wanted to stay home for the summer you sent me away on a bike trip when I hadn’t ridden a bike in five years. Remember that? I do. I also remember that it took about a week before my body got used to riding 30 miles a fucking day and it was hard enough being an adolescent girl without being the adolescent girl everyone else on the trip had to wait for at each stop. And why would you bring this up fifteen years later at breakfast?

So four nights, ended up being two nights too many. We’ll go back later next week but we’ll only stay for two nights. I think that keeping the visits short and sweet may save me. I can only keep from fighting back for so long.