And, breathe……..
I’m glad that’s over. I love my mother dearly, but she has got the art of martyr down to the finest art.
Last night I managed to upset her by answering the question, “Do you watch Emmerdale?” with “Yes, sometimes.” She walked out of the room, and sulked upstairs for an hour. Even my dad was bewildered.
Christmas dinner was, well, a typical Christmas dinner cooked by my sister. Three tiny roast potatoes each, an enormous bowl of mashed potatoes (I hate mash!), the sprouts cooked so long they had turned grey, she even managed to make frozen petit pois turn grey (those things just need *warming*, for gods sake), and they were served in a dish with some token mange tout - that had been boiled for as long as the peas had. My niece announced she didn’t like mange tout, and it was all I could do to stop myself from saying “I’m not surprised if they are served like that.”
My family, in recent years, after visiting other families and seeing it done this way, now serve dinner with all veggies in bowls, and the meat on plates for people to help themselves. However, they haven’t fully grasped the concept - the bowls get put on the table, but you have to empty them straight away so they can go back into the kitchen. There is never a chance for seconds, or for someone to just take a bit, and go back for more later if they want. If you don’t grab it first time round, you don’t get any more.
With the exception of a small spoonful of those grey peas, I have had no vegetables since Friday night. It’s just been meat, bread, and potatoes. No wonder I feel sluggish.
And if I didn’t look so much like my parents, I’d swear I was swapped with another family at birth.
My whole family communicates in a series of questions, to which there is never a polite way to answer. Examples -
“I thought you liked insert tv show name here? It’s rubbish isn’t it?” I mean, how on earth can you answer that?
“You’re not going to eat *that* now are you?” when said food object is already half eaten.
“Going in your car is horrible isn’t it?” Huh? If I thought my car was horrible, might I not have got another one, or maybe not even bought it in the first place?
“Everyone else who has stayed in that bed says it’s really comfortable, so I don’t know why you are saying it’s uncomfy?” How am I supposed to defend that? Especially as it’s the exact same when they come to mine, I get the “That spare bed is bloody uncomfortable isn’t it?” when everyone else says how comfy it is.
They also seem to talk in code - giving out the tiniest bit of information at a time, making you ask them questions, when they answer it by giving the smallest further amount of information possible, while trying to make you look stupid because you haven’t guessed what the hell it is they’re on about. This is often prefaced with the conversation, “Guess what?” Pause. Sigh. “What?” “No, you have to guess.” “But I don’t want to.” “Well what’s up with you, misery guts?” Or they will make a statement when they know full well you don’t know what they are talking about. If I bite, and ask, I get the rolled eyes, “Don’t you *know* that? I thought everyone did?”. If I refuse to ask, the statement gets repeated. And again. Until either they give in and say, “Aren’t you going to ask?” (”No, I don’t play that stupid game, if you want me to know something, tell me.”), or I give in, and ask.
Another favourite is, “We went to such and such the other day.” I will ask, “Where’s that?” “You know where it is, it’s by somewhere else.” “No, I don’t know where that is.” “Yes you do.” Oh, right, well I guess I do then, stupid me for thinking otherwise, you obviously know what I know better than me.
The best has to be my mother though. In a supermarket, her and my dad were talking to one of the young lads who works there, chatting to them. Now, my parents seem to know everyone, and every supermarket they go into they seem to know all the staff. My mother turns to me, “Don’t you know who this is?” Erm. No. “He’s Barbara’s nephew.” Oh, right. A girl I went to school with, who I haven’t seen for 20 years. Her brother (or sister)’s son, who is about 18. Stupid me for not recognising him!