Do you think it’s wrong to dangle sexual favors like a carrot in front of the husband’s nose in order to get him to do stuff around the house (dishes, lawn etc.)??? If so, got any better ideas?
Oh Gentle Reader, here is where I have to turn the tables on you and ask you, does it work? Because Your Aunt Becky might be interested if it did. This is how a conversation about division of labor goes in my house:
Aunt Becky: Hey, The Daver, can you please mow the lawn? I lost the dog in it last week.
The Daver: I can’t hear you.
Aunt Becky: I’m standing right next to you.
The Daver: I don’t speak English.
Aunt Becky: Yes you do. You’re speaking English right now.
The Daver: No I don’t.
(walks away leisurely to go save the world from global economic meltdown)
Then I hire the neighbor kid to mow the lawn and rescue the dog.
I think if I implemented a chore chart or a system of smiley faces he might throttle me if I didn’t throttle myself first, especially because then I might be tempted to go buy those stupid things you put in the toilets for little boys to aim their pee at.
And if I nagged him to death about it, I’d feel like a shrew, or worse, his mother.
To me, a blow job would be cheaper than hiring someone. But, you know, depends, I guess.
(also: does it WORK?)
I have known these people for fifteen long, and I mean long, years. I am the type of person who will let you know when you have pissed me off. These people prefer to lift proverbial rug and sweep under. If I do say something my MIL will cry, which sets off a full born shit storm. My son has a pair of Nike skateboard shoes. Or he had. When they last came to visit said in-laws threw them away because “they” don’t like skateboarding, “it’s dangerous”. They also removed the mouth guard from his school issued football helmet and put on one that FIL thought was safer (you’ll poke your eye out kid). This type of shit has been going on for years.
Everyone tells me that I should not take them to task, but I’m getting older and less able to eat shit (it is true what they say). My husband is afraid of them (Catholic guilt you see). They also went through my medicine cabinet and told my son that mommy takes to many pills. My husband says “Why do you care what they think” Durrrr my son? They also like to pump my three kids (including my 4 year old) for information that gets repeated back to me. Can’t I just tell them to go eff off?
Sincerely, Ready to go all Chris Brown
I am pretty sure that you deserve a medal for putting up with these people for so long because I don’t have any idea how you’ve managed to do it. Certainly, you’re not going to change them because people like that get even MORE crotchety in their old age and you’re probably not going to change your husband either. The Daver, while he’s not going to throw me under the bus, he wouldn’t really stand up for me either, so I feel you.
You have the option of doing one of two things because the shit tornado is going to hit you or hit her and it’s really your call who it’s going to hit.:
1) Telling them to piss off the next time that they try and mess with your family and then dealing with the fallout. If they want to get in your business, bite back.
2) Dealing with it the way you’ve always dealt with it and have some extra margaritas when they’re in town.
Dear Aunt Becky,
I had the worst day humanly imaginable. Please feel free to take my story and make it an absolutely hilarious comedy, as I’m on prescribed vicodin and EVERYTHING is funny.
My four year old was diagnosed with respiratory distress and the doc diagnosed her with steroids. Steroids in my small child make her act like a ping pong ball in a shoebox. Within an hour after her discharge from the hospital, I begin to feel crummy. Sore throat, cough, runny nose. Oh joy.
I spent the weekend crashed on the couch, miserable and trying to recover. My child continued to be her lovable, completely wild self. Screaming, swinging, laughing and creating general mischief. She went back to school this morning. Praise God.
I went to work, hoping for the best. Within an hour, my boss said “No way, jose” and sent me home because I’m a germ-infested liability. Leaving the building, I fall. I fall down the freaking stairs. And I’m pretty sure besides my completely deflated and injured pride, my arm’s broke.
Too embarrassed to find someone, I hurry to the ER. After an exhausting wait, I was found to be not broken *I disagree since the dr couldn’t even remember what my illness was in the first place*, two ear infections and a viral lung something or other. But heaven-they prescribed VICODIN! Hours later, prescription in hand, I arrive home. To find that the city has issued a warning telling residents to not drink the water.
Of freaking course.
So I’m in pain, my kid needs her cocaine, er, I mean steroids and I need painkillers. Mommy’s dragging ass and my kid is chattering hers off.
What the hell did I do to karma?
Thanks for letting me vent. Your stories cheer me up greatly. Seriously. They do.
Then this one, baby, is for YOU.
As always, O! Internet, my Internet, please feel free to add your witty insights below because I have most certainly missed something.
OH! And I added an EMAIL ME link on my sidebar because that seemed like a good idea especially since I am trolling for writing projects and other assorted things to do. So, if you need a slightly sober writer, I am totally your bitch.