Y'all remember that way back in early October, I went shopping with Mr-Mama. As you know, I am not much of a shopper, and I keep my wardrobe fairly limited as a philosophical preference. This was not a shopping trip for a bored rich woman to while away a morning: I needed those clothes to wear to work. Mr-Mama offered to hem or shorten sleeves on several items, most notably a brown pantsuit, a black skirt-suit, and a black dress. It is more than 2 months later, and I have not seen a scrap of my new clothes.
I tried to tactfully mention at the Mr-Family brunch that I knew she was awfully busy during the holidays, but it would be really great if I had my new things to wear, especially that brown suit ... what with the very cold weather lately, and a lot of my old things not fitting anymore (hence the shopping trip). She promised me that she would at least have the brown suit finished before she and Mr-Papa head off for ten days in Florida, leaving tomorrow.
I should have known better, I really should have. But I was so looking forward to my new brown suit! I decided this morning that I would wear it tomorrow on my birthday, so I called her a few minutes ago to ask if Marc and I could stop to pick it up tonight on our way home from my mom's. "It's not ready," she said, "but I promise I will work on it the minute I step back in the door from Florida."
I couldn't help it. I asked her if she could just pack up all my things that she hasn't had time to work on so that I can hem them myself or take them somewhere to pay a tailor to finish them. She got mortally offended, and huffed about how she did make me an entire dress at Thanksgiving - and she did! and I thanked her! And I realize that she is doing all of this as a favor to me, and I don't want to be ungrateful ... but y'all, I need my clothes! I really do! So even though she kept pushing the offended meme, I kept asking her to gather my clothes so I can come and get them, do what I can myself and take the rest to a tailor. She finally huffed not to stop by tonight, she will bring them over tomorrow.
She has had the dress my mother gave me as a birthday gift last year for a whole year - and all it needs is a hem. She didn't do it all last winter, and then it was warm weather and I stopped asking about it, and she found it again this fall - I had forgotten all about it, what with never having worn it even once. I told her how great it would be to have for when Mr. J and I went to Seattle. Nope. Here it is a full year since I took that dress over and she still hasn't hemmed it. I can't afford to wait a year for my work clothes. I need to wear them; I don't have piles and piles of nearly-identical clothes to browse through and select from every morning. I need those clothes, or I wouldn't have bought them in the first place!
I am really sorry that I hurt her feelings, but if you don't have time to do me a favor, don't offer. And don't promise to have my suit hemmed before my birthday when what you really mean is, I'll get around to it sometime in the next decade.
UPDATE: Mr-Mama having left town for her vacation, I went by her house to collect my things. She had finished the work on the brown suit and the birthday dress before she left, which I appreciated. I took the other suit and the black dress to the tailor tout de suite.
CON: "That will be $45." PRO: "You can pick them up next Friday, ma'am."
Definitely worth the money.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Julep: Can't Hold Back
One of my co-workers, whom I quite like, told me over lunch today that she is getting divorced - as in, the papers will be final on Monday getting divorced, so this is hardly news. In fact, it seems they separated in September (immediately after their return from a 13-day trip to Europe with another colleague and her husband, in fact - and I wish I had the nerve to ask for the details on that trip.) I hadn't heard a word of it before today, and she said she has been sort of keeping it under wraps at the office. Fair enough, as her soon-to-be-ex worked here back in the day.
I asked how she felt about this development, and she said, "Good," so I said, "Congratulations." And we talked briefly about her living situation and the conversation moved on.
What I did not say, and must now say here ... although I disapprove of divorce in principle ... is: good riddance! I never liked him. I could never understand what a smart, tall, attractive, well-paid, gregarious woman in her mid-20s (at that time, now 31) wanted with a guy who is dull, short, unattractive, at least ten years older than she, not making any more money than she can earn for herself, not particularly pleasant company, who walked out on his first wife of 10+ years and two small children (both under five, one not even mobile yet). She can do so much better. So, so much better.
And I hope she will come to our upcoming party in January, to which Evite I added her immediately after learning that I could invite her without including him. (I hope you girls are coming too!)
Twinks, I want to hear about your trip to the CT in-laws. I didn't realize (but judging from your tweeting I now gather) that this out of town venture involved the entire Mr Twinkle clan. Do tell.
I asked how she felt about this development, and she said, "Good," so I said, "Congratulations." And we talked briefly about her living situation and the conversation moved on.
What I did not say, and must now say here ... although I disapprove of divorce in principle ... is: good riddance! I never liked him. I could never understand what a smart, tall, attractive, well-paid, gregarious woman in her mid-20s (at that time, now 31) wanted with a guy who is dull, short, unattractive, at least ten years older than she, not making any more money than she can earn for herself, not particularly pleasant company, who walked out on his first wife of 10+ years and two small children (both under five, one not even mobile yet). She can do so much better. So, so much better.
And I hope she will come to our upcoming party in January, to which Evite I added her immediately after learning that I could invite her without including him. (I hope you girls are coming too!)
Twinks, I want to hear about your trip to the CT in-laws. I didn't realize (but judging from your tweeting I now gather) that this out of town venture involved the entire Mr Twinkle clan. Do tell.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Julep: Just Call Me Scrooge
Got a phone call yesterday from Mr. J's Judgy Grandma. She wanted to make sure we knew we are supposed to come to their country club on Sunday morning for the annual Mr-Family Christmas brunch.
In theory, they do this every year so that Mr-J's youngest aunt (the one who got drunk and made the scene at our rehearsal dinner) can come in town with her husband and kids and see everyone for the holiday, since they live a few hours away and spend Christmas with her husband's family. Mr-Mama told me today that Young Aunt is not coming this year because of some long story about getting their kid's stuff home from college before he goes on foreign study. So it will be only the Mr-family who live in town - the Mr-Grands, Mr. J's immediate family, his older aunt and her family (Stripper Boots Cousin and Baby Mama Cousin plus hubby and baby) - exactly the same people we'll be seeing on Christmas day for dinner at Mr-Mama's house. One might think we could skip the country club this year (particularly since I don't much care for these people). But no, Judgy Grandma will not allow it. She wants the brunch, so brunch there will be.
The other thing she wants is a gag gift exchange. This is not for the older generations - just for the grandkids, all of whom are over 21 and none of whom really enjoy this little ritual. It's never entirely clear whether it is supposed to be a white elephant/ something you have around the house gag gift, or a go out and find something funny for $10 gag gift. One year I received a bar of soap and a roll of toilet tissue, which was at least useful - unlike the stuffed mouse in a kimono that danced to "Kung Fu Fighting," which Mr. J got.
I don't want really someone else's junk cluttering up my house. If this were a beloved tradition that everyone got a kick out of - and everyone participated in, not just the younger generation - I'd deal with it. But it isn't. Mr. J's cousins half-ass it every year. It's annoying. I told Mr. J he is welcome to play along if he wants to, but I intend to group myself with the grown-ups this year. I'm not bringing a gift or participating in the exchange. And boy oh boy won't Judgy Grandma be passive-aggressively mad about it.
Mr-Mama is admiringly envious that I don't kowtow to Judgy Grandma. It's hard for her to flout Mr-Dad's mother - as much as she would love to. Fortunately Mr. J isn't the least bit worried if Judgy Grandma is mad at me. And I couldn't care less.
In theory, they do this every year so that Mr-J's youngest aunt (the one who got drunk and made the scene at our rehearsal dinner) can come in town with her husband and kids and see everyone for the holiday, since they live a few hours away and spend Christmas with her husband's family. Mr-Mama told me today that Young Aunt is not coming this year because of some long story about getting their kid's stuff home from college before he goes on foreign study. So it will be only the Mr-family who live in town - the Mr-Grands, Mr. J's immediate family, his older aunt and her family (Stripper Boots Cousin and Baby Mama Cousin plus hubby and baby) - exactly the same people we'll be seeing on Christmas day for dinner at Mr-Mama's house. One might think we could skip the country club this year (particularly since I don't much care for these people). But no, Judgy Grandma will not allow it. She wants the brunch, so brunch there will be.
The other thing she wants is a gag gift exchange. This is not for the older generations - just for the grandkids, all of whom are over 21 and none of whom really enjoy this little ritual. It's never entirely clear whether it is supposed to be a white elephant/ something you have around the house gag gift, or a go out and find something funny for $10 gag gift. One year I received a bar of soap and a roll of toilet tissue, which was at least useful - unlike the stuffed mouse in a kimono that danced to "Kung Fu Fighting," which Mr. J got.
I don't want really someone else's junk cluttering up my house. If this were a beloved tradition that everyone got a kick out of - and everyone participated in, not just the younger generation - I'd deal with it. But it isn't. Mr. J's cousins half-ass it every year. It's annoying. I told Mr. J he is welcome to play along if he wants to, but I intend to group myself with the grown-ups this year. I'm not bringing a gift or participating in the exchange. And boy oh boy won't Judgy Grandma be passive-aggressively mad about it.
Mr-Mama is admiringly envious that I don't kowtow to Judgy Grandma. It's hard for her to flout Mr-Dad's mother - as much as she would love to. Fortunately Mr. J isn't the least bit worried if Judgy Grandma is mad at me. And I couldn't care less.
Monday, November 29, 2010
No Thanks-Giving: Dibbs
As a warning, Julep, you've heard every bit of this. Feel free to skip.
I knew things were awry when my abstaining Southern Baptist mother called and told me to stop at the liquor store. Boy Cousin had a change of plans and decided to bring his new girlfriend--and her two-year-old--to our house for lunch. Funny, Breeder's Cup weekend he wanted me to fix him up with a friend. I'm ever-so-glad he found love, as none of my friends are interested in riding four-wheelers on his farm. I guess true love knows no time. But I digress...
After a 30-minute wait in the rain for Dutch Apple Caramel Pie and two wrecks on the interstate, the liquor and I were home. Crazy Girl Cousin I awaited. I heard, "So they're dating..."
"Who's dating?" I wondered aloud, emerging from the loo. Four hours, don't forget.
"Crazy Girl Cousin II and Hot Guy From High School," my mother answered, tentatively.
"Shit," I replied, and made a cocktail. Yes, I was on my way to a high school basketball scrimmage for Golden Child. All white trash mores have been violated in our family by now. Who cares?
Not a week before, Hot Guy From High School had joined Facebook and made his friend requests. On Friday, he went on a date with Crazy Cousin II, fresh from the psychiatric hospital and faux paralysis (more on that later.) On Monday, he moved in. Apparently, he "sold his business" in Knoxville and moved home to his mother's house in our hometown. Sure. That's what we all say when we're fired or bankrupt.
Crazy Cousin I was not to tell of this to my mother or to me, as I had a major crush on Hot Guy twenty years ago. Yes, what I want is an unemployed Hot Guy taking up room and finances in my house. Bring it.
Cue Thursday: Drinking starts at 11:00. Because it can.
Boy Cousin pulls in the driveway. I spy the new girlfriend. She has: wet, curly red hair hanging stringily to her chin. She has crooked yellow teeth. She wears brown K-mart Uggs. I warn my dad, "Boy Cousin's girlfriend. Get ready." This becomes a joke. If your girlfriend comes with a warning...
Her baby is asleep. We let him sleep in a back bedroom. Baby Shagari arrives, bearing Chicken Pox and energy. Not to be outdone, scary girlfriend goes to wake her baby. (So he can catch Chicken Pox? I still don't get it.) He never wakes, even when Baby Shagari shrieks. She says he has ADHD. Nope.
Boy Cousin says, "Dibbs, there she is." Well, yes, she sure is sweet... She asks about every dish. "What's this?" Broccoli casserole. "What's this?" Macaroni and cheese. I drink wine from a football game cup so as not to be caught in the act.
My father summed it up, "Boy Cousin didn't have to run very fast to catch her."
Friday: Playa Brother brings home a girl. She goes to his room. She never comes out. Never. Not to eat. Not to go to the bathroom. Not to shower. Nothing. I guess she peed in a cup? Two days...
Baby Shagari went in once, but he can't talk. He came back with jellybeans. We don't know anything else.
Happy Thanksgiving, Y'all.
I knew things were awry when my abstaining Southern Baptist mother called and told me to stop at the liquor store. Boy Cousin had a change of plans and decided to bring his new girlfriend--and her two-year-old--to our house for lunch. Funny, Breeder's Cup weekend he wanted me to fix him up with a friend. I'm ever-so-glad he found love, as none of my friends are interested in riding four-wheelers on his farm. I guess true love knows no time. But I digress...
After a 30-minute wait in the rain for Dutch Apple Caramel Pie and two wrecks on the interstate, the liquor and I were home. Crazy Girl Cousin I awaited. I heard, "So they're dating..."
"Who's dating?" I wondered aloud, emerging from the loo. Four hours, don't forget.
"Crazy Girl Cousin II and Hot Guy From High School," my mother answered, tentatively.
"Shit," I replied, and made a cocktail. Yes, I was on my way to a high school basketball scrimmage for Golden Child. All white trash mores have been violated in our family by now. Who cares?
Not a week before, Hot Guy From High School had joined Facebook and made his friend requests. On Friday, he went on a date with Crazy Cousin II, fresh from the psychiatric hospital and faux paralysis (more on that later.) On Monday, he moved in. Apparently, he "sold his business" in Knoxville and moved home to his mother's house in our hometown. Sure. That's what we all say when we're fired or bankrupt.
Crazy Cousin I was not to tell of this to my mother or to me, as I had a major crush on Hot Guy twenty years ago. Yes, what I want is an unemployed Hot Guy taking up room and finances in my house. Bring it.
Cue Thursday: Drinking starts at 11:00. Because it can.
Boy Cousin pulls in the driveway. I spy the new girlfriend. She has: wet, curly red hair hanging stringily to her chin. She has crooked yellow teeth. She wears brown K-mart Uggs. I warn my dad, "Boy Cousin's girlfriend. Get ready." This becomes a joke. If your girlfriend comes with a warning...
Her baby is asleep. We let him sleep in a back bedroom. Baby Shagari arrives, bearing Chicken Pox and energy. Not to be outdone, scary girlfriend goes to wake her baby. (So he can catch Chicken Pox? I still don't get it.) He never wakes, even when Baby Shagari shrieks. She says he has ADHD. Nope.
Boy Cousin says, "Dibbs, there she is." Well, yes, she sure is sweet... She asks about every dish. "What's this?" Broccoli casserole. "What's this?" Macaroni and cheese. I drink wine from a football game cup so as not to be caught in the act.
My father summed it up, "Boy Cousin didn't have to run very fast to catch her."
Friday: Playa Brother brings home a girl. She goes to his room. She never comes out. Never. Not to eat. Not to go to the bathroom. Not to shower. Nothing. I guess she peed in a cup? Two days...
Baby Shagari went in once, but he can't talk. He came back with jellybeans. We don't know anything else.
Happy Thanksgiving, Y'all.
Julep: middle-aged and risque
So one of my colleagues is getting remarried. This is a wonderful thing, as she is a lovely woman whose beloved soul mate died of cancer at the age of 54, when she was 51. They had a beautiful marriage - traveling together, reading the same books, building their dream home out in the country. And then he was gone, and it was so sad to think she would have another 30 years without him. Well, five years later he's still gone but she has found a new companion. Again, this is a wonderful thing. They are getting married in a few weeks and it's a very private service - I think there are eight guests, of whom four are blood relatives and two are the couple who introduced them.
Accordingly, another colleague is hosting a party for the bride. It is emphatically not a shower - the invitation specified no gifts - but it's just the women of our department. Although it is the same night as the Judds concert (alas), I have been looking forward to it. I've been working hard lately and it's been a while since I got to relax and chat with my colleagues.
Well. Today the hostess sent out a reminder email, and although "real" gifts are off the table, she directed that we should all bring a gag gift ... i.e., crotchless panties. Um. I am really sort of creeped out by this. The bride is my mother's age (almost, and older than my MIL). The other guests are my co-workers. I really don't want to know what anyone else is going to buy, or to think about what the bride will do with all these gifts.
What on earth am I supposed to buy her? Where do I shop for this on four days' notice?
Accordingly, another colleague is hosting a party for the bride. It is emphatically not a shower - the invitation specified no gifts - but it's just the women of our department. Although it is the same night as the Judds concert (alas), I have been looking forward to it. I've been working hard lately and it's been a while since I got to relax and chat with my colleagues.
Well. Today the hostess sent out a reminder email, and although "real" gifts are off the table, she directed that we should all bring a gag gift ... i.e., crotchless panties. Um. I am really sort of creeped out by this. The bride is my mother's age (almost, and older than my MIL). The other guests are my co-workers. I really don't want to know what anyone else is going to buy, or to think about what the bride will do with all these gifts.
What on earth am I supposed to buy her? Where do I shop for this on four days' notice?
Friday, November 26, 2010
Julep: Stay Gone
As y'all may know, we've hosted the joint families for Thanksgiving for the past couple years. We started with 20 people, last year was down to 14, and this year only 10, which was really lovely. Just us, my parents, Sis and her husband and baby (okay, it was 11 if you count the baby), Mr-Mama, Mr-Papa, Mr-Sister, and the fabulous Nanny (Mr-Mama's mother). We're starting to get this down to an art. Mr-J makes turkey, gravy, and mashed potatoes, I handle dinner rolls and dessert, and everyone else brings a side.
This year, Mr-Papa's parents did not join us for the first time. Mr-Aunt had a dinner last year for herself and her girls, and the Mr-Grands decided henceforth they would take turns between our house and hers. Unluckily for them, this year Mr-Aunt had some health issues so it ended up at the home of her daughter, whom you'll remember in the cast of characters as the baby-name-stealing cousin who demanded cash for a wedding gift. There was much discussion yesterday about whether Cuz knows how to cook.
Personally, I couldn't have been happier to say farewell to the extended Mr. Clan for Thanksgiving dinner. I don't dislike Mr-Aunt or the Mr-Grands, but they are kind of high-maintenance and always there is some drama. Taking the number down meant it was a very relaxed gathering of close family, and we all fit at one table, which was lovely. Not to mention the improved menu offerings. Escaping the ever-present plain cheesecake that Mr-Aunt brings to every. single. family. dinner. ever! is a blessing in and of itself. Plus for the past two years, Mr-Grandma has brought the corn pudding and sweet potatoes to Thanksgiving. And y'all, they were not good. I love me some corn pudding, but hers is just not right somehow. I think the problem is, she is one of those cooks who refuses to use a recipe - she thinks she can cook from instinct, which is fine if you are making a pot roast or spaghetti sauce, but corn pudding needs the right proportions of flour, sugar, salt, and baking powder.
This year I made the corn pudding, using the recipe from Lilly's as I always do. It was delicious, as it always is. And Mr-Mama, freed at last from the tyranny of her mother-in-law, made the sweet potato casserole from last month's Southern Living (the one with the marshmallow topping). It was so good I could have licked the bowl.
Is any way I can uninvite them for next year?
This year, Mr-Papa's parents did not join us for the first time. Mr-Aunt had a dinner last year for herself and her girls, and the Mr-Grands decided henceforth they would take turns between our house and hers. Unluckily for them, this year Mr-Aunt had some health issues so it ended up at the home of her daughter, whom you'll remember in the cast of characters as the baby-name-stealing cousin who demanded cash for a wedding gift. There was much discussion yesterday about whether Cuz knows how to cook.
Personally, I couldn't have been happier to say farewell to the extended Mr. Clan for Thanksgiving dinner. I don't dislike Mr-Aunt or the Mr-Grands, but they are kind of high-maintenance and always there is some drama. Taking the number down meant it was a very relaxed gathering of close family, and we all fit at one table, which was lovely. Not to mention the improved menu offerings. Escaping the ever-present plain cheesecake that Mr-Aunt brings to every. single. family. dinner. ever! is a blessing in and of itself. Plus for the past two years, Mr-Grandma has brought the corn pudding and sweet potatoes to Thanksgiving. And y'all, they were not good. I love me some corn pudding, but hers is just not right somehow. I think the problem is, she is one of those cooks who refuses to use a recipe - she thinks she can cook from instinct, which is fine if you are making a pot roast or spaghetti sauce, but corn pudding needs the right proportions of flour, sugar, salt, and baking powder.
This year I made the corn pudding, using the recipe from Lilly's as I always do. It was delicious, as it always is. And Mr-Mama, freed at last from the tyranny of her mother-in-law, made the sweet potato casserole from last month's Southern Living (the one with the marshmallow topping). It was so good I could have licked the bowl.
Is any way I can uninvite them for next year?
Twinkle: Party Crashers
I accepted a long time ago that I will never host a large Thanksgiving meal--even though I would actually like to. The thought of staying home all day on Thanksgiving, baking pies and basting a turkey, sounds so appealing to be...but alas, our Thanksgiving lot is to rush around from family to family, trying to make everyone in all families understand that it's kind of a full day for us so we're super-sorry about being there at 1:15 instead of 1. (When we were 15 minutes late to Mr. Twinkle's family yesterday, two different people called him to find out where we were and demand that we get there stat. I'm sorry, in my family, the arrival time is a suggestion, and you get there any time you can within the 2-hour cocktail hour window. My parents, who want to see their grandchild for the maximum amount of time, remedy this laissez-faire situation by assigning me to bring an appetizer, ensuring that I have to get there right at the beginning).
This year I decided that I would cook a Thanksgiving dinner for just us on Friday night--"just us" referring to the three members of the immediate Twinkle family. I really want to know how to cook a turkey, and I thought it would be fun to find and make my own Thanksgiving recipes--you can be a lot more creative when the expectations of 30 people aren't riding on your mashed potato recipe. Basically, it was about creating our own tradition, for once, instead of letting every holiday be dictated by everyone else's designs for us.
Y'all can probably guess how this ends.
So, I bought a 15-pound turkey--the smallest one at Whole Foods--and yes it's for 3 people but no I did not care. I purchased all the fixins and planned my menu. I informed Mr. Twinkle about my intentions, and he informed me that he would "feel bad" cooking Thanksgiving dinner and not inviting his parents. We discussed it for a couple of days, I caved, and now instead of a leisurely day of cooking for us--with the knowledge that it'll actually be OK if this turkey venture is an epic fail--it has turned into a formal dinner party for 6 people. It won't be OK if the turkey or anything else doesn't turn out, my MIL will be silently criticizing the way I did everything even if it does turn out, and my FIL will be sitting there thinking how much better my MIL could have done it all. Plus, I have to clean the whole house now. Not what I was planning.
So, this morning I broke out the gigantic turkey and performed that ancient rite of passage for Thanksgiving hosts: removing the gizzard. Which was actually not as bad as I expected. Mr. Twinkle came in to see what was going on, and had the audacity to inform me that I was supposed to sprinkle the turkey with paprika. You can guess who does this...but I'm not doing it. This is about us learning how to do it ourselves, not me mimicking every tiny detail that my MIL does. (And the instructions I was using made no mention of paprika). He also asked what I planned to do with the gizzard, and balked when he discovered I was going to throw it in the Crock pot with the green beans for flavor. And then, after he thought about it, his indignation faded and he thought it might actually be a good idea. Progress?
Obviously, real progress will only be made when we can actually do something for ourselves, our way, with or without unwanted guests. It's one thing for me to be forced to invite my in-laws to something that was supposed to be just for us, but I'm not changing the menu to make them judge us less. They can come crash the party, but they will have to suck it up and eat everything the way I fix it. I should have known how this would end, and not wasted my time in the first place.
This year I decided that I would cook a Thanksgiving dinner for just us on Friday night--"just us" referring to the three members of the immediate Twinkle family. I really want to know how to cook a turkey, and I thought it would be fun to find and make my own Thanksgiving recipes--you can be a lot more creative when the expectations of 30 people aren't riding on your mashed potato recipe. Basically, it was about creating our own tradition, for once, instead of letting every holiday be dictated by everyone else's designs for us.
Y'all can probably guess how this ends.
So, I bought a 15-pound turkey--the smallest one at Whole Foods--and yes it's for 3 people but no I did not care. I purchased all the fixins and planned my menu. I informed Mr. Twinkle about my intentions, and he informed me that he would "feel bad" cooking Thanksgiving dinner and not inviting his parents. We discussed it for a couple of days, I caved, and now instead of a leisurely day of cooking for us--with the knowledge that it'll actually be OK if this turkey venture is an epic fail--it has turned into a formal dinner party for 6 people. It won't be OK if the turkey or anything else doesn't turn out, my MIL will be silently criticizing the way I did everything even if it does turn out, and my FIL will be sitting there thinking how much better my MIL could have done it all. Plus, I have to clean the whole house now. Not what I was planning.
So, this morning I broke out the gigantic turkey and performed that ancient rite of passage for Thanksgiving hosts: removing the gizzard. Which was actually not as bad as I expected. Mr. Twinkle came in to see what was going on, and had the audacity to inform me that I was supposed to sprinkle the turkey with paprika. You can guess who does this...but I'm not doing it. This is about us learning how to do it ourselves, not me mimicking every tiny detail that my MIL does. (And the instructions I was using made no mention of paprika). He also asked what I planned to do with the gizzard, and balked when he discovered I was going to throw it in the Crock pot with the green beans for flavor. And then, after he thought about it, his indignation faded and he thought it might actually be a good idea. Progress?
Obviously, real progress will only be made when we can actually do something for ourselves, our way, with or without unwanted guests. It's one thing for me to be forced to invite my in-laws to something that was supposed to be just for us, but I'm not changing the menu to make them judge us less. They can come crash the party, but they will have to suck it up and eat everything the way I fix it. I should have known how this would end, and not wasted my time in the first place.
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