Most people who know me in any sense, know that I am driven absolutely batshit by my inlaws.  There are so many reasons, their passive-aggressiveness, their simpleness, their ability to make the simplest shit annoying.  Anyway. New story.

Thanksgivings past, we have spent with the inlaws in some fashion.  Either uncomfortably staring at each other at my SILs house, or last year, uncomfortable eating at a restaurant.  Here’s the thing about holidays in restaurants for me. You don’t get to bitch about eh food or the service, it is a freakin’ HOLIDAY, and these people are making 2 bucks an hour to feed our ridiculously unmannered party of 16, depending on how many illegitimate babies and commonlaw spouses are there.  Or if the runaway sister of the commonlaw spouse shows up, that’s a wild card guest too.  It drives me absolutely nuts that people would dare complain about ANYTHING, when, for me, a holiday is about being with the family, not whether or not the bread basket is constantly being refilled, or if there is enough creamer at the table. DEAL.  The servers are NOT with their families, so shut the hell up and tip well.  My inlaws don’t do that.

We haven’t heard anything this year regarding Thanksgiving.  My folks have invited us to the mountain, and since we aren’t going to the lake for Christmas, we have been thinking we’ll take them up on their offer.  Dinner for four, with manners and a good tip, and great scenery to boot. Sounds lovely.

Dave just talked to his mom (who has been in the hospital twice since we last visited her — to take her the goddamn chair , which, I don’t think I ever told that story in its entirety, but it IS the goddamn chair — for unspecfified problems that are only related to "her haht.") who was all passive aggressive again, talking in her sick old lady voice, and said "Oh, well I thought you would have us all over for Thanksgiving this year."

What? What the what what?  APPARENTLY, even though Thanksgiving is in TWO WEEKS, they think we are hosting it.  We have never made any claims, we — you remember — NEVER TALK TO DAVE’S FAMILY, and they are silently waiting for an invite? To OUR HOUSE? Um, fuck no. 

So, Dave told her about our mountain plans, and she got all sad and said "I don’t know what’s going on, no one has called anyone" and dave said "Well, of course not, because our family is WEIRD."

"Oh, Dave," she whined," every family is dysfunctional, ours aint any different than any other family."

Which, Dave being the educated and refined man that he is, said nothing.  Because he:
A) Knows that she is fishing for him to say that "Yeah, Gretchen’s family is weird too!"
or B) Say, "No, actually, our family is seriously weird.  Gretchen’s family manages to function pretty normally."

Because, it is.  The poor bastard (which he has been called by most of his family, actually, on account of the "illegitimate"thing) has always known that his family was fucked up, and compared to my family, now sees JUST how fucked up it is.  I mean, my parents are in our lives. My sister is in our lives, and she lives in FUCKING COLORADO.  Her BOYFRIEND is more involved in our lives than Dave’s own siblings.  That is FUCKED. UP.  And this conversation, after my parents coming down so that Dad and I could go to a UM hockey game (UM-3, UNH -0), and my mom went shopping, and we all hun gout and I gave them cookies for the road, and her’s ol’ whiny MIL again, saying that her family is just like every other one. Well. It aint.

I could go on, and on, but here’s the thing.  My parents were there for me. they sacrificed so that I could have things I needed and wanted, I never once saw them smoking or drunk, and they didn’t put me on the street the day I turned 18 because they weren’t getting money for me anymore. Okay?  But, no, I’m "the rich bitch" to my ILs, and I’ve pushed my husband away from his family.

Sorry. It isn’t the case.  My husband has been welcomed into my family with open arms.  He knows he is loved by my parents, my sister, my grandparents, our friends.  It’s not about money. 

So, there’s that.  At this point, we’ll do thanksgiving at the mountain, unless my frickin’ inlaws don’t ever call my MIL, at which point we’ll take her out.  And you’d better believe we’ll tip well.