19 November 2006
purls before whine
And now the whine.
Feel free to click away now. I probably shouldn’t use this forum to bitch about family but hey it’s my blog and I need to vent.
Who knew two weeks could feel like five? Poor Mr Soup is mortified, as they are his relatives. As he said once or twice out of the corner of his mouth, Now do you see why I left the country as soon as I came of age?
These truly were the Houseguests from Hell. In two long weeks, they didn’t cook a single meal, offer to buy takeaway to give us a break from cooking for them, wash the dishes, empty the dishwasher, contribute a cent towards the groceries, offer to do any housework apart from a bit of ironing on Day Two, or get off their backsides when at the end of a long day at work we would come wearily home, wash last night’s dishes and prepare another meal for us all.
One morning as we were all in the car taking the children to school, me to work and dropping them off at the station so they could go into town (never a please or thank you either), they leaned back in the car window and said "Are you doing any laundry today?" I pointedly looked at my work clothing and said through clenched teeth "No. I will be at work all day. You are welcome to use the machine though." Him: "Oh we’re going to be out all day too."
On their penultimate evening with us (which was spent as usual with us sitting in our own lounge room listening to them bicker and whine) (I got a lot of knitting done. See picture), I said "Are we doing anything tomorrow night for your last evening?" thinking this might prompt them to take us out for a (preferably slap up expensive) Thank You Meal. And so we arranged a night out at the local Asian restaurant. No mention of whose treat it would be.
Can you guess what their "gift" to us was (apart from the calendar from the Two Dollar Shoppe, that is)?
They offered to "go halves" on the bill, even though there were four of us (Son #1 was away at camp) and only two of them. Never mind the fact that we all drank water and they drank beer after beer after beer, all of which went on the final bill.
Clench clench clench.
This morning, instead of waking to bickering and overwrought children who, surprise surprise, have picked up on the stress levels around here, I found Son #1 making french toast and the other two sitting quietly knitting.
We all looked at one another. No one said a word. We smiled. I unclenched.
Peace reigns again.
And we are very thankful.
Postscript: She left her personal diary here. Several frantic phone calls have been received by our answering machine.
We are not picking up.