Twinkle: Airing of Caribbean Grievances

The trip with my in-laws hasn't been bad...other than the first miserable day of travel (made more dramatic by the fact that Twinklette had a cold and only got one hour of sleep before our 4 a.m. airport departure). But for the most part it's been fine, and I've had lots of time to float on a raft in the sea, not thinking or caring about my longsuffering MIL, who prefers not to take complimentary shots from friendly native bartenders, and who'd rather sit smugly and responsibly, guarding the towels and beach bags instead of snorkeling with everyone else. Do I look like I care? 'Cause I don't. But she was a major party pooper not to take that shot with everyone else at the table.

Of course, there are certain grievances. And here they are:

1). The Benadryl. Picture it, Standiford-Field, 4:10 a.m. Twinklette sneezes. MIL says, "Did you bring any Benadryl?" I'd packed every traditional and holistic remedy in my entire med-arsenal--before I even knew Twinklette was going to be sick--except, of course the Benadryl. I considered packing it, but ruled against it, because I couldn't remember what other medicines that I'd packed could be mixed with Benadryl. But I was wrong to worry about drug interactions. MIL wanted Benadryl, and I didn't have any. So clearly I'm not fit to wipe Twinklette's nose...which brings me to...

2). The Kleenex. Every time Twinklette sneezed or looked like she was going to, MIL instantly had a Kleenex. It was as if she literally had a Kleenex up her sleeve, just for the express purpose of beating me to the nose-wipe to make me look somehow unfit. I'm not making this up. Even Mr. Twinkle noticed/was annoyed by her quick-draw Kleenex technique.

3). The medicine. Remember all that medicine I packed? Well, it was liquid, so I checked it. And all day long as we travelled, MIL would keep asking me about it like I was some unfit mother who was withholding treatment from my child. And all day long I'd explain, "I had to check it. Darn terrorists." And again she'd ask for it. When we got our bags, I couldn't exactly remember which bag the meds were in (there was a little late-night shuffling of luggage contents, as I held my screaming child for 6 hours that she should have been asleep and tried to do the last of the packing). Well, of course, when my SIL got there, she had her child's medicine right there and knew right where it was, so she whipped that off-brand infant Tylenol out faster than you can say shalom y'all (good mommies know that, since the big Tylenol recall, it's best to use off-brand). For the rest of the day, any time Twinklette showed the slightest signs of her cold, MIL would say, "Your SIL has some Tylenol she can use."

4). The breakfast smoothie. Mr. Twinkle has discovered a new talent on this trip: making fresh-fruit breakfast smoothies for everyone, and they are absolutely delicious. He's made them every morning with whatever tropical fruits we've had in our condos, and he's gotten rave reviews all around. And every morning, at least 4 times, MIL says, "This would be a great breakfast for Twinklette; if you added a little yogurt it would be a whole healthy breakfast all its own." She has said it, and said it, and said it, and I suppose she thinks all we ever feed Twinklette for breakfast are Fruity Pebbles with a little Mrs. Butterworth drizzled on top.

5). The beach reading. It's true. On my kindle, I'm reading Living Dead in Dallas: A Sookie Stackhouse Novel, and loving every delicious page of trash. And I read Henry James' Portrait of a Lady before I left for this trip, to fill my head with literature before I filled it with trash. And I consistently read better quality books than she does, so I don't appreciate snide comments from my MIL, a literary enthusiast whose favorites include The Peach Cobbler Murder and Dead Men Don't Crochet. My worst guilty pleasure is better than her highest literary pursuit, which, if I'm not mistaken, is Glazed Murder: A Donut Shop Mystery. Sookie Stackhouse is Moll Flanders compared to that.

6). The eyes. Last night at dinner, SIL was saying that some of her work colleagues think her daughter and mine look alike (so much so that they thought my SIL had an older daughter). I agreed, to be polite, that yes, certain features--the eyes--do bear a resemblance. FIL said to SIL, "They both have your eyes." And MIL screamed out, "They're MY eyes." Who does that? Let other people say it, Grams! Does this woman think no one gives her any credit, or what?

Two observations:

1). Hotel bed sheets. This is totally inappropriate, but I'm pretty sure my MIL would never do the nasty in a hotel room. I get sort of grossed out by the thought of it, too (even just sleeping on those linens, whose history is totally mysterious, is kind of gross). But I'll put my reservations on hold in the name of a good time, especially if it's a nice hotel that launders everything (even the duvet cover). That's the key. I'll bet my FIL is just totally out of luck in that regard, though. MIL would probably b*tch to everyone about it, if it were in any way appropriate, "The nerve of FIL...thinking I would do that on a hotel bed."


2). Today while we were eating lunch, I exclaimed, "Mr. Twinkle makes a mean PB&J." And I realized that MIL would never say anything like that about her husband, or son, or anyone else. She'd never give credit where credit is due, or just say something nice to make a guy in her life feel good (I, too, make a mean PB&J...but it doesn't hurt if Mr. Twinkle gets a pat on the back for the one he made). MIL is all about taking, taking, taking credit, but never giving any credit or saying thank you to anyone. That's her central tragedy. That, and her refusal to take that delicious blue shot.

Off to see what that literary legend Sookie Stackhouse is up to.