Every five or six years, my mother guilts me into joining the extended family for a week-long vacation.
(NOTE: guilt is a horrible thing– made even more horrible-er-er when mixed with a pinch of stinginess, a strong dose of negativity, and one f*cking giant wallop of general mean-spiritedness)
BTW, just in case any of you are dying to know, my daughter is rude– and getting fat– and i’m “really starting to show my age” and should make an appointment with a dermatologist PRONTO.
(i feel pretty, oh so pretty… )
And, if any of you are thinking, ‘oh c’mon… it couldn’t have been all THAT bad,” I give you TRUE GRIT: an original breakfast story–
On our very last day together at the beach house, my mother got up early to make a huge pot of homestyle grits. Not only did she use the very last of my half-n-half (BITCH!) in her grits, but when she finished cooking, she proceeded to have the following conversation with my father and sister (while I’m sitting just two feet away on a kitchen stool– very much awake, and very much present in the room, after having said my round of good mornings):
MOM: “Daughter #1, would you like some grits?”
Daughter #1 [MY SISTER]: “Of course, I’ll get them…” [MOVING TO GET GRITS HERSELF]
MOM to Daughter #1: “Don’t move!… I have everything right here.” [proceeds to dish out and take piping hot bowl of grits to D #1]
MOM to my DAD: “May I bring you some?”
DAD [shaking his head at such a ridiculous question]: “Well, yeah!” [mom takes bowl to my dad]
IGNORES ME. PROCEEDS TO MAKE BOWL FOR HERSELF. SITS DOWN AT TABLE.
DAD [feeling bad that I'd been SO totally ignored]: “Contessa, didn’t you want some grits?”
Contessa: “Yes, I can get them for myself, thank you dad.” [proceeds to get grits for self]
And that pretty much sums up my week of vacation. Now, please excuse me while i go phone my doctor– the psychologist (NOT to be confused with the dermatologist).
Girl I feel your pain! Only problem is… recently my mother moved into my house! There is no getting away from the sideward looks of disapproval, or the little comments about how I should put make up on. Nope.. Im in hell! Oh and heaven help me if I put on a bit of weight. Lord, I might have just as well shot the Pope! I mean, how could I possibly be so inconsiderate to not look perfect at every moment!
Are we related?
Only, before it was “you’re fat” and then it was “you’re too thin, do you eat” and now they leave me alone because my brother and sister are both fucking up worse than me right now (thank god).
That sounds like the vacation from hell – hope there was some fun to it? I also hope you packed your tequila.