Tonight we’re headed to the better-half’s mother’s for dinner. She was adamant the other day when she talked to him about having us over. Frankly, we try not to go over there for dinner. The house is a shitstorm and we usually end up having to straighten up, cook the food and then clean up. Plus there’s the handful of other chores we’re assigned while we’re there and then there’s the listening to her grump about everything under the sun. A little ray of sunshine, my MIL.
For the record, we don’t mind it if she comes to our house or if we go out for dinner. It’s the having dinner at her house thing that bugs us.
But, the better-half’s birthday was yesterday and so we’re going. I’m trying hard to move past the fact that while she talked to him yesterday not once did she utter the words, “happy birthday to my only child who does 10,000 things for me on a regular basis”. She also couldn’t get a card into the mail. I just hate it when she blows off his birthday…like she’s done for the past several years.
When I got home this afternoon there was a bag of charcoal sitting next to the front door so we’ll remember to take it with us. I guess the better-half will be cooking part of our meal. And, I’ll feel compelled to clean up the kitchen.
We have a sick bet that we’ll be doing none of that and will go out to eat because his mother couldn’t get it together.
