Well Merry Freakin Christmas! I’ve already ventured over to my mother’s and returned in a matter of two hours, I believe. She just couldn’t let things go and let everything be peaceful….
We were talking about how my father was being rather not helpful when it came to getting my grandmother her Christmas present, when I mentioned that he’s called just about every single day and stopped over every weekend.
Then she added the comment that she, too, has stopped over every weekend.
I told her that, yes, I had noticed that, and that I wasn’t too happy with her last visit in which she didn’t call first. She got all aghast that I didn’t welcome her presence with open arms, and immediately got pissed off.
Well, excuse me for wanting to enjoy my bubble bath in peace, but I didn’t really appreciate being interrupted because she didn’t think it would be prudent to call before coming over.
Her response to my request was, “Well, fine, I won’t ever stop over ever again.”
Of course, she can’t simply just abide by my one request. It’s always all or nothing with her. Either I allow her to be rude and inconvenience me, or I’m punished by her making sure that she doesn’t do anything if I ever need help.
She snorted, “Well, I’m sure glad you came over,” in her sarcastic tone, implying that she was pissed off that she had to make that extra effort that no one smoke in the house. So that was the last straw, I just up and left.
At least this year I get that opportunity. I’m sick of being treated like a child. I mean, I earn my own money, I pay my own debts, I live on my own—so what will it take before she starts treated me like an adult?
Psh…whatever. At least I don’t have to listen to it anymore.
Merry Christmas indeed.
