People, I tried. I really did. I tried to go to Thanksgiving dinner with Billi's in-laws with a cheerful, gracious attitude. But when a couple of selfish loudmouths want to make everyone else as miserable as they are, there is little I can do to dissuade them.
As promised, we will take a look at the incidents leading up to my refusal to ever be at the same event with them again, and YOU be the judge as to whether I failed Jeebus horribly, or if I actually channeled Jeebus when he lost his shit at the temple and knocked over all those tables and stuff.
The Incident of the Uninvited Guests
First of all, none of us should have even been there. My immediate family and I should have been at my house for Thanksgiving, as that is the way the rotation had been going. Billi takes turns between our family and her in-laws, and this year was my turn to host a small, quiet Thanksgiving, where we stifle our personal miseries like normal people.
But Brad's sister apparently got an invitation from friends and couldn't be bothered to keep her parents company, as per a phone conversation between Billi and Brad's sister, so Billi had to host at her house again. Okay, she didn't HAVE to. There was no gun to her head. But Billi and Brad are good people and didn't want to leave his parents alone on Thanksgiving.
On the other hand, due to past experiences with them...
"Who unplugged the Nesco?! The ham is still in there!"
"I didn't do it! Stop accusing me!"
"I'm not accusing you! I'm just asking!"
"I WON'T BE ACCUSED OF SOMETHING I DIDN'T DO!"
...Husband and I were reluctant to go. But I like to provide Billi with some buffer, so I ignored my gut feeling.
Two days before Thanksgiving, Brad's sister called Billi and asked, "What should I bring to dinner on Thursday?"
AhjekamungaHUH?!
Since when was she invited to dinner?! And if she was free, why wasn't SHE hosting her miserable parents?!
Billi got off the phone without giving her an answer (I said S.I.L. should bring the mashed potatoes because those are such a pain-in-the-ass to make) and reported the brief conversation to Brad. Who couldn't dial his sister fast enough.
When he asked her about the invitation from friends, she said, "I don't remember having that conversation with Billi."
That's it, honey -- endear yourself to your brother by calling his wife a liar. Good plan!
The Incident on the Stairs
There was an accident Thanksgiving morning. Brad's Dad ("Papa" from a prior post) fell down the stairs... or something... and hurt his back... again. I don't know exactly what happened. No one could get any details from him besides, "I almost died!"
Which may be a legitimate claim, I will grant him that. Falling down the stairs is scary shit, even if it's just a little slip and you catch yourself -- I sprained my shoulder that way once. But when a person falls and almost dies, it kind of begs the question -- Shouldn't you go to the E.R.? Or at the very least, lay down for a couple days?
Sadly, no. Papa is a great cook, and he was in charge of bringing the turkey and the stuffing. And by God, no life-threatening fall was going to stop him! Papa is a trooper. BUT. Papa wouldn't stop moaning. Apparently, he was in so much pain, he couldn't help but continuously verbalize it.
Now, I've had a ruptured appendix, and I didn't even moan then. I can't imagine the kind of pain that is the prerequisite for moaning, but I'm pretty sure it should include an immediate trip to the hospital. No one would have been mad. Everyone would have understood.
It was like Haunted Thanksgiving (and if that movie hasn't been made, yet, I totally call dibs). I was like, Wrong holiday, dude. The Ghost of Christmas Past doesn't come for another month.
The Stuffing Incident
I don't know if this happened before or after The Incident on the Stairs, but it doesn't really matter. At 10:00 a.m., Billi got a very loud phone call from Papa.
"I have neither the time nor the room to make the stuffing!"
Well, you can pretty much just cancel Thanksgiving at that point because everything else is just garnish to the stuffing. Billi said nothing and, again, reported the call to Brad, who, again, rapidly dialed the phone.
His mom answered and, when he told her about the call from his dad, she said, "What? I don't know what he's talking about. There's no reason we can't make the stuffing."
Okay then. Tradegy diverted, right? NooooOOOOoooo! What followed was probably the worst stuffing ever served since the very first Thanksgiving. Papa went on and on about how he'd used his mother's recipe from 1940. Now, I know what was going on in the world at that time, but I don't think that World War II is an excuse to create sub-par stuffing.
It was... I'm trying to think of something to compare the stuffing to. Grey and grainy and runny, it was the color and consistancy of newly poured concrete, with no discernable chunks that could be identified as a piece of bread. Which, by the way, is stuffing's principal ingredient.
I don't know what you have to do to food to make it grey, and it makes me sad to ponder it. Moving on.
The Incident of the Passing of the Food
I don't know if there's anyone in Brad's family -- besides Brad -- who doesn't suffer from chronic back pain from an old injury gone horribly wrong. Even before The Incident on the Stairs, Papa had a bad back from an old sledding accident.
Apparently, the grey WWII stuffing was also the same density as concrete, making it difficult for people with chronic back pain to lift and pass. So we all had to hear about it, ad nauseum, from the far end of the table, where Billi had cleverly stashed Brad's father and sister.
The two of them had quite a time, father and daughter, screaming at each other about how they couldn't hold the stuffing -- or the turkey, or the mashed potatoes... the rolls were light enough -- and ordering the other to take it from them because they dropped it. Because they couldn't hold it. Because of their back.
Brad sat next to me with his head in his hands, eyes closed, shaking his head, while Billi whispered to him, "If you want to send them home, I will totally back you up."
Sadly, that didn't happen because Brad is THE KINDEST, MOST GRACIOUS HUMAN BEING EVER. But I did receive a couple of covert "WTF???" looks from The Boy Child and The Girl Child, which totally cracked me up.
The Incidents of General Ass-hattery
So there I was, desparately trying to save Thanksgiving, like some B List starlet in a Lifetime Channel Christmas movie. "Let's go around the table, and everyone say one day that they are thankful for in the past year!"
Dad said, "Every day that I wake up in the morning." Ha!
The Boy Child said, "Halloween!" Probably because he got to go trick-or-treating without The Girl Child, who was home with a leg injury.
Papa said, "Uh... come back to me." Yeah, guess what. We didn't go back to him. Because the whole time we were going around the table, he was trying to engage someone in a conversation about some politician who did something and is going to ruin the entire world.
Now, I like a good politician-hating conversation as much as the next person. But not at Thanksgiving! And not with such a doomsday attitude. It was just really inappropriate and offensive. I don't know how else to put it. The man has a son who is incredibly compassionate and forgiving, three beautiful grandchildren, a nice house, and a wife who hasn't left him. Dude should be BRIMMING with gratitude! I just want to smack him upside the head.
The Medical Advice Incident
My parents are old and have their fair share of odd-n-ends medical challenges, one of which is my father's hip and femur, which are partially robotic. And in the rebuilding, he is now half an inch shorter in one leg and has a very wobbly gait because of it.
He should probably get an orthotic insert or something, but his doctor is incompetent, and Dad won't go to a different one, so he wobbles. It's stupid, but he's an adult and is still legally allowed to make his own decisions (for now), so we just leave it alone.
But if you've learned anything by now, it's that Papa can leave nothing alone. Not if there's some quality crabbing to be done!
Know what's awesome? Lectures that begin with, "Look. Let me tell you something." You just rolled your eyes didn't you? You couldn't help it! No one can! Because everyone hates to be talked to like that, and everyone knows that an opener like that is going to be followed by a huge, steaming pile of shit!
Dad just kept shaking his head and saying, "I can't hear you. You're talking into my bad ear." Mommie Dearest was staring so hard at her plate, I thought she was going to bore laser-holes through it. Seriously, I thought she was going to lunge over the table at Papa. We left soon after that.
The Pie Incident
But not without having dessert. And this is where I awesomely bring the story full-circle, and that NEVER happens with me, so please pay close attention and be very impressed.
Remember when the sister-in-law asked what she could bring to dinner? When Brad told her, Nothing, she asked if she should bring a pie. No, do not bring a pie. Wenchie and Mommie Dearest have taken care of dessert. Don't bring anything.
You know how this ends. She brought a pie. A lemon meringue pie.
First of all, lemon is a summer dessert. Fall is about apples, pumpkins and pecans. NOT lemon meringue. And although it was certainly not a conspiratorial effort, no one ate the lemon meringue pie. There wasn't so much as a knife indentation in the crust.
And she had the nerve to get all indignant and angry about, "How come nobody ate my pie?"
Because no one told you to bring a fucking pie.
* * * * * * *
And THAT, my friends, is why I will not be setting foot into Billi's lovely home at Christmas while Brad's family is there. I really did try to be hospitable and charitable. I know that they are people just like me, and they have hardships in their lives, and I am sorry for all of it. I do not wish them ill. I only wish them temporary laryngitis.
Now tell me -- am I wrong?
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