I'm avoiding specifics
I'm having some...issues with my in-laws. So as not to bore myself, I will recap the history of my relationship with my in-laws thusly:
First seven years: Llamas singing, birds weaving braids of spaghetti through our hair, all the world made of sweet, sweet nougat.
Eighth year: Hmm. Something's amiss here. No, nothing's amiss. I'm a crazy person. She's a bitch! No, I'm a crazy person. Well, and she's a bitch. Oh, whatever. Everything's fine. Things could be much worse. Things have been great for seven years -- I must be blowing this out of proportion. It's FINE. But it's really not.
Ninth year, first months: Good to see you! Avoid, avoid, avoid, avoid. It's been so long! Avoid, avoid. We've been SWAMPED! Avoid, avoid, avoid.
Ninth year, last months: CUNT.
Tenth year, first months: These people are pure evil.
Tenth year, last months: Okay, maybe not evil. I just don't trust them.
Eleventh year, first months: Okay, I don't trust them. But they can be nice. And I'm a crazy person. Maybe everything will be fine.
Eleventh year, last months: Something's not right. No, everything's fine. I'm a crazy person! Just. Let. It. Go. Already. They're not letting me let it go. Oh, whatever. I'm very lucky and happy -- why does it matter? Shut up -- things have been so much worse! But still...AUGHHHH!!! It needs to be fine. Oh, holy yell, I am just tired.
They're just shortchanging us, and worse, shortchanging our children. And we keep trying, and they keep shortchanging, and it makes no sense. Except that they apparently have a finite pool of interest and care apportioned to grandchildren, and said pool is already spoken for.
We're not stopping, though. If the day ever comes where the boys see the treatment disparity and are hurt by it, we'll have to re-evaluate. Until then, I am making nice as stubbornly as I possibly can. I am the irresistable force of breezy unconcern. I'm the immovable object of sang froid (and I don't even speak French)!
Ruthlessly kind are my watchwords. There's no "bigger person" here. No, right now I'm a very small-on-the-inside person. A tiny, tiny angry person with pointy little gesticulative ratfists and a squeaking, vengeful ratvoice who would so love to have a rational conversation with these people and calmly, constructively discuss how they're hurting us and ultimately shortchanging themselves, and barring this, tell them to pound salt.
Sometimes tiny-on-the-inside, ruthlessly kind ratpeople write very long sentences.
First seven years: Llamas singing, birds weaving braids of spaghetti through our hair, all the world made of sweet, sweet nougat.
Eighth year: Hmm. Something's amiss here. No, nothing's amiss. I'm a crazy person. She's a bitch! No, I'm a crazy person. Well, and she's a bitch. Oh, whatever. Everything's fine. Things could be much worse. Things have been great for seven years -- I must be blowing this out of proportion. It's FINE. But it's really not.
Ninth year, first months: Good to see you! Avoid, avoid, avoid, avoid. It's been so long! Avoid, avoid. We've been SWAMPED! Avoid, avoid, avoid.
Ninth year, last months: CUNT.
Tenth year, first months: These people are pure evil.
Tenth year, last months: Okay, maybe not evil. I just don't trust them.
Eleventh year, first months: Okay, I don't trust them. But they can be nice. And I'm a crazy person. Maybe everything will be fine.
Eleventh year, last months: Something's not right. No, everything's fine. I'm a crazy person! Just. Let. It. Go. Already. They're not letting me let it go. Oh, whatever. I'm very lucky and happy -- why does it matter? Shut up -- things have been so much worse! But still...AUGHHHH!!! It needs to be fine. Oh, holy yell, I am just tired.
They're just shortchanging us, and worse, shortchanging our children. And we keep trying, and they keep shortchanging, and it makes no sense. Except that they apparently have a finite pool of interest and care apportioned to grandchildren, and said pool is already spoken for.
We're not stopping, though. If the day ever comes where the boys see the treatment disparity and are hurt by it, we'll have to re-evaluate. Until then, I am making nice as stubbornly as I possibly can. I am the irresistable force of breezy unconcern. I'm the immovable object of sang froid (and I don't even speak French)!
Ruthlessly kind are my watchwords. There's no "bigger person" here. No, right now I'm a very small-on-the-inside person. A tiny, tiny angry person with pointy little gesticulative ratfists and a squeaking, vengeful ratvoice who would so love to have a rational conversation with these people and calmly, constructively discuss how they're hurting us and ultimately shortchanging themselves, and barring this, tell them to pound salt.
Sometimes tiny-on-the-inside, ruthlessly kind ratpeople write very long sentences.
posted by E. at 1:23 AM
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