I am a Snob, Part 2 of 2
Alright. So we finally leave the restaurant and go back to mother-in-law's house...which by now is about 90 degrees inside and reeks of her five or six dogs (who she gorges with people-food to "show her love" and who are therefore over twice their recommended weight and about to have a heat stroke). I note a new (maybe?) porch swing on the front lawn. In front of the newly expanded driveway (that now takes up 2/3 of her entire front lawn) and next to the huge metal carport that sits like a huge-hulking-unsightly-and-ill-planned obstruction on half of the geometrically obscure driveway. So I retrieve a magazine from the car and plant myself in the swing. The remainder of the crew file dutifully into the backyard for Rodney Carrington hell. I spot a black cat (yes, she also has an entire menagerie of cats in addition to the dogs) under a truck in the drive, and after eyeing me briefly it comes over to molest me. Now I like cats, so this is alright. Except I forget hers have claws, so my chest is shredded and the cats are trying to sharpen their claws on my pants, snagging them, as I wait out the backyard horrors. Well, I can't read the magazine with this cat climbing all over me, and it's 16 years old, so who knows if perhaps I am its last hope of pleasure, and I submit to petting it and being a jungle gym. Meanwhile I am looking around and enjoying the breeze. Now, I know mother-in-law (who is not well off by any means) spent a small fortune to have this eyesore of a driveway and carport installed. And they had to do it twice, having screwed it up the first time (since she doesn't hire a contractor...she hires "somebody's friend the ex-con and narcotic user" or similar). But at last it is done and there and...as I look up...I notice it has been adorned with a nice little (TACKY!) wooden "flower on a stick." Oh god. I can make out the semi-flower shape, although I can only see it from the back, where it is screamingly displaying the "Dollar General $3" sticker in BIG bold black letters. HELP ME! While I am observing this in my quiet reverie, a car pulls up next door. Well, tries to. It is a sad little Camaro, the kind your mullet-wearing-highschool-loser guy would drive in the 80s...and it is gasping and wheezing (and endeavoring to pollute the environment and poison me by spewing exhause fumes and reeking of gasoline) in an effort to keep running long enough to be parked. This takes quite a bit of maneuvering (partially due to the plethora of OTHER loser cars parked at the house already), and the girlfriend has to get out and "wave" loser guy in to the parking place which is, as it turns out, on the front lawn. Right next to the sofa. I'M NOT KIDDING! Boyfriend exits the car and commences screaming at little blond haired child to get out. No doubt she was lawfully buckled in a car seat, right? Don't think so. Of course, in true form she has no shoes and is unkempt. I see her eventually maneuver her way out of the car (which is now residing quietly on the front lawn with the hood up so boyfriend can figure out why it is spraying oil everywhere and refusing to consistently run). She runs around the yard barefoot, then gets on a bike. Visions of parasitic infestations are now flowing freely in my head. (Ruffian, if ever someone was "wormy" this may be your girl!) I hope fervently that no illegal activities will take place next door while I am in the front yard that might necessitate shooting me to remove "witnesses." Time passes. Eventually people begin to emerge from inside my mother-in-law's house...first the brother-in-law to go pick up his kids from a church thing (I think the youth group burns crosses on Wednesday nights...no, really, this is one of those old "Southern-type" towns), then sister-in-law comes out and says she fell asleep on the back porch. Then my son emerges and proceeds to tell me that, even as a 16-year-old boy, he is disgusted by the guy on the CD. Eventually mother-in-law herself peeks out to put out more cat food, at which point the cat dislodges itself from my chest (my cute little white top is now COVERED in black fur) and goes to see what's for dinner. I begin flipping through the pages of my magazine until I think sufficient time has passed, then I venture into the backyard to see if we can PLEASE GO HOME NOW. I am just in time to hear a lovely and well-thought-out bit about how the comedian (turns out they listened to two, equally bad) is having trouble doing his workouts to Jane Fonda with a "hard on." Charming. Mother-in-law is rolling with laughter (Was LT secretly raised by wolves? Wolves wouldn't think this garbage is funny!). I give LT an imploring look and tell him we really need to get boy child home because it's a school night, after which things slowly come to and end (with me firmly back in the front yard away from the CD's). LT relates to me just HOW very bad they were, not just because the guy is gross and crass (after listening to him I am even tempted to stop cursing....nah!), but also because he's just reworking really OLD jokes that were NEVER, EVER funny. But at last the nightmare is over until... NOOOOOOOOO...she invites us back down for LT's birthday this week. Surely she won't put us through the CD horror on his birthday, right? So now it is over. Temporary exile, anyway. And I am firmly in touch with just how much of a snob I am...and I embrace my snob-ness and go happily back to my non-Dollar-Store-shopping-world.
*This message has been approved by LT for mother-related content.
*This message has been approved by LT for mother-related content.
posted by ET at 12:53 AM
4 Comments:
If it makes you feel any better, my dad's house has a metal roof, the driveway takes up 2/3 of the front yard (little house, though), the screened-in porch is covered with CHICKEN WIRE to keep falls from tearing the screen. They bought a wood-burning stove to put in the kitchen. Fine-save the enviroment, whatever. BUT! Behind it they put a few pieces of sheet metal so that the wall won't get hot. I love my daddy, but ickyness! There's more...it shall be blogged by next week.
What I don't get are the cracks about the pets. I went through this growing up, with cat hair and dog hair on all my clothes and having to turn on all the lights to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night because of the few times I stepped in something that should only be found on a ranch. We counted it up when I was in high school that my mother had had 76 pets in the 25 years (at that point) that she had lived in this country.
Then I lived on my own and wore only t-shirts and jeans when visiting so I could easily get the hair off when I left my parents' house. I was happy about doing my laundry and actually having clean, clear shirts. So I hook up with ET who has two cats, with one on what proved to be its last legs. So when I moved in she had ONE cat, count it, ONE. So I can deal with that and can keep a lintroller around for when I need it. I also wasn't in a job where I needed to worry about ties, suits, etc. So what happens? Paging Dr. Freud. ET morphs into my mother when it comes to pets. Every sob story about a pet, every kitty on death row, every stray become fair game to us. Some lasted only a day, some were not compatible with our other cat, etc. Now we have two dogs, one of which I'll admit I HAD to have. He's my boy. But we also have five cats, one the result of ET not being able to choose between two. It's not a bag! So much for hairless clothes for the rest of my life. So ET, my mom has many pets. But have you taken a look around our house?
It is a travesty, yes...I agree we have TOO MANY CATS! But, I have tried time and again to get rid of the stray (just ask Rachel, AM, etc.) and there's just no moving her. As for the others, LT was WITH me when I got our Himilayan baby, one is a pound cat, and the other was rescued from a pet store where he had been stuck in a metal cage for TEN months. I am a soft touch when it comes to animals...but once these are gone (from old age) there will be NO MORE than two cats.
As for the dogs, ours are quite small (actually two of the cats are tiny, as well...so more like one large cat), don't shed, and don't smell. I was merely commenting that your mother's house -- sans air conditioning and with her numerous sweltering dogs -- was a bit ripe of doggie...that is because she has dogs that smell if they aren't bathed once a week. And dogs that DROOL, which makes them icky. Except for the new little one...he's still cute.
Yeah, you tried to pawn off the crazy cat on me and I'm pretty sure Shelby wouldn't do too well. Or me. I can't deal with the seemingly random jumping up on me and scratching. I think I'm a dog-only gal. Good thing D. has a beagle.
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