It’s 2 weeks until Mother’s Day here in US America. Joy. Soyjoy. My own mother and I don’t have a super close relationship, so Mother’s Day means I send a $100 bouquet of some sort, she (usually) calls to thank me, tell me it wasn’t necessary and either (a.) jokes about there being no money included with the flowers or (b.) half jokingly tells me I could have just sent her the cash price of the blooms. Yeah, forgive me for not wanting to just write you a fucking cheque, moms. I’ll waste my money however I see fit, thanks very much. But this bitch is not about my momma, no, this is about one of my mother-in-law’s – because I am a lucky bitch and I have TWO – so allow me to introduce you to MIL #2.

MIL #2 is my man’s momma, and she gets #2 status because she was the second one that I met, also because the woman didn’t acknowledge me for the first several years of our relationship – even after we got married. I saw her exactly two times in 5 years, the first time I met her was a lunch meeting with the three of us and Mr. K (who was Boyfriend K at the time) scheduled it during the move from his state to mine. It was our last stop on the way out of town, with Uhaul loaded if that tells you anything. He always described his relationship with his moms to me as strained, mostly from his end, I got the sense he was generally perturbed with her about something that had happened – it may have had to do with money.

Anyway, we meet for lunch and I am all kinds of nervous, wanting to make a good impression and all that shit. I sat next to him and she sat across from him, diagonal from me. Here’s how lunch went – I asked her all sorts of polite, get-to-know-you questions, and she answered……him. I asked her about her stupid ass book (he had mentioned she was writing some sort of feminist tome which I think was supposed to contrast the generational differences between herself and her mother – THRILLER!), she answered…….him. Anything I asked her, she would reply only to her son. THE BITCH WOULDN’T EVEN GLANCE AT ME LONG ENOUGH TO SUSTAIN FAKE CONVERSATION. This is how she meets her son’s serious-I-am-in-love-and-moving-cross-country-to-be-with girlfriend. Mid-way through lunch I noticed something else, something which disturbed me to some degree. Every time I touched him, she had to touch him. Except she had to touch him longer and she had to laugh while she did it. So if I brushed his elbow, or affectionately scratched his back then she would reach out and stroke his forearm or squeeze his hand. Um, you have got to be fucking kidding me. First you want to disavow my very existence and now you’re going to go all Jessica Lange in ‘Hush‘?? Fuck. That.

The next time I saw her was several years later, after we had gotten married. Mr. K had elected not to invite her to the wedding, which is just as well since MIL #1 and her cuntface daughter – my SIL – caused several weddings worth of drama with all their bullshit (more to come on that later). It was Christmas, we were up visiting his family and she had made a trip up to see her family as well, so much to my disgust we were expected to show up for lunch. Here is how I know I married a boy that I can love forever and always be myself with, upon seeing my total bitter beerface as I was getting in the car, he busted out the fattest joint and then stopped for junk food so the afternoon would not be completely hellacious – that is love, ya’ll.

We get there and I set my mind on autopilot, just wanting it to be over as soon as fucking possible. There were a few other people there from her fams I think, don’t recall too much as I was being completely disregarded again. He and I sat together on a love seat, naturally she wedged her square ass between the remaining .5 inch of fabric and the arm just to be closer to him than I was. When he reached over and squeezed my hand she started tucking imaginary stray hairs behind his ear. When he gave me a quick smooch, she decided it was time to bear hug him – I began examining the objects in the room that would double as weapons, there was a fuckin’ ugly lamp with a very heavy base that would do quite well for face smashing.

Later when the meal was served, the conversation was just as unbearable, maybe even more so since the other people there actually dared to ask me a question or two under the freezing blast of her death glare. For the most part I sat there pushing food around my plate and willing time to go faster, until I started feeling very queasy. The food was awful to begin with but now I was actually on the verge of vomiting, so I excused myself to the bathroom where I did in fact, hurl. And yes, I have every belief that the sorry wench attempted to poison me. Obviously she was not aware that years of bad drugs and excessive drink have created an early warning system of sorts in my stomach – anything that’s not on the level gets rejected right away, so better luck next time, Arsenic Annie.

I didn’t see MIL#2 again until 2 years ago, when all of a sudden she wants to come for a week long visit. I was definitely not happy about it but there was really not a whole lot I could do to stop it, I mean she is his mother. So she turned up for a 5 day stay and I promptly scheduled every goddamned appointment I could think of to keep myself busy and out of the house, right after I made sure to leave some very special cushions out for our houseguest. (Those of you that know the ‘psychic story’ can appreciate that). The majority of the time she actually stays out of my way, which is fine by me. But really all that’s happening is we are ignoring each other until those moments when the three of us are stuck at a table and need to make conversation. We went to dinner one night during her first visit and when she started asking me questions I was surprised and annoyed. Surprised because, hello, she was bothering to speak to me, I’m only your son’s wife and future mother to your grandchildren (yeah, can’t WAIT for that drama) and annoyed because she was asking me shit like, “so, Kadinsky, what is it that you do?” and “where are you from?” Fucking first date questions and I’ve been married to your son for years!!

Every time she calls, she calls him and him only. When she is here she will ‘speak’ to me, but really she is here to see him. Right now actually, they are out doing something which was not planned to include me, just like yesterday’s shopping excursion or the cooking activity the day before. Don’t get me wrong, I’m GLAD to be left out, because if I were supposed to go I would pull a face and huff and only go to be nice because my mother taught me to be respectful of my elders, such as. But it’s the fact that she ignored me for years, actively tried to break us up (there was a lovely Thanksgiving email she once sent which I will tell y’all about some time), then glossed over all of that like it never happened and started inviting herself to our house for visits. And while she’s here she still makes no attempt to get to know me, or explain any of that past behavior or anything. For fuck’s sake she is moving back to this region shortly and has proposed WEEKEND VISITS EVERY MONTH. Yeah, I already get pains, moodiness and a need to overlay fake smiles on my bitchface once a month already – thanks.

I’m hoping my salvation lies in the fact that she is chronically unable to stick to anything she does – like careers for example. She has no investments or assets after a lifetime of supporting only herself, since she routinely flits between ‘money makers’ like her feminism book (that made it a whole 2 chapters), vitamins and herbal supplements, certified psychic-ness (my fave) and talking to animals.

Or maybe I’ll just volunteer to make dinner tonight. More soup, Mother, dear?

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