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Sometimes I’m frighteningly good.
Like a psychic or something.
Or maybe I'm just stupid and should just STFU.
After confronting my uncle about terrorising my grandmother one of my first thoughts was “Boy, I’m gonna pay for this”.
I really wish I’d been wrong.
This Monday something happened in my family and we were all shaken. There was arguing, screaming and desperation. Neither of us slept well that night and I decided to stay home from work (after two hours of sleep that was a pretty good idea, too). Comforting each other. Strength in numbers and all that, right?
Well. Someone, I don’t know who, had the brilliant idea to get my uncle involved.
He preached about “sticking together”, about us “learning a bitter lesson”, how much better it is to work together and all that crap. I didn’t talk to him, I was on the sofa, trying to get a little sleep.
Enter Granny. "[Your uncle] says he won’t enter the house again (funny, he’d already been there this morning) until you apologise to him."
That was nothing new, he’d said that the week before. On the day I tried to tell him to stop tormenting his own mother about her money.
The new part? Her huge, pleading eyes and the whiny voice.
No fucking way, I thought. She wouldn't dare.
She dared.
“So what?”, I asked.
“Well, you know …”
"Huh?"
"..."
“You want me to apologise? You are aware I was defending you, right? I didn’t do anything wrong, but if you tell me to, I will apologise.”
“…”
“Do you want me to apologise?”
“Well, you know …”
“Do you want me to apologise?”
“… I have no choice!”
“Well, then.”
She did have a choice. He had already “entered the house” twice. He just had to put that cherry on top of his sundae of triumph. He told her he wouldn’t enter her house ever again several times before. When he’d argued with my dad (his brother). When she wouldn’t give him power of attorney. And he always came back.
So I “apologised”. I made sure he knew I didn’t do it willingly. I told him that from now on he can do whatever he wants; I won’t defend his mother again. He can rage, he can scream, he can demand money and power of attorney. I don’t care.
No choice, my ass.
This was just the continuation of the old habit of “they (my parents and me) are always there, no matter how I treat them. They may get angry but they’re always at my beck and call.” Now completed with a “she’ll get over it”.
Well, fuck you, lady.
I took a holiday to make sure you’re not “all alone by yourself! Whine!”™ when my parents take their two weeks’ worth of holidays.
We asked my uncle (who isn’t even related to you) to visit with us, too. Because the ray of sunshine that is your firstborn refused to look after you until you gave him power of attorney.
I was willing to sleep on an uncomfortable lumpy old couch so you didn’t have to be “all alone by yourself! Whine!”™ at night during that time.
I/we did that because you’re old and needy. I was willing to overlook how you’d treated the people I loved because I thought holding a grudge would be petty.
Well, fuck you, lady.
My grudge is back. And this time it’s here to stay. Call me petty if you want. I’d rather be petty than your puppet.
And your crocodile tears? Let those two charming, oh-so-successful bitches that are my cousins dry them. When they visit. If they visit. They life a whole kilometre away, after all.
Like a psychic or something.
Or maybe I'm just stupid and should just STFU.
After confronting my uncle about terrorising my grandmother one of my first thoughts was “Boy, I’m gonna pay for this”.
I really wish I’d been wrong.
This Monday something happened in my family and we were all shaken. There was arguing, screaming and desperation. Neither of us slept well that night and I decided to stay home from work (after two hours of sleep that was a pretty good idea, too). Comforting each other. Strength in numbers and all that, right?
Well. Someone, I don’t know who, had the brilliant idea to get my uncle involved.
He preached about “sticking together”, about us “learning a bitter lesson”, how much better it is to work together and all that crap. I didn’t talk to him, I was on the sofa, trying to get a little sleep.
Enter Granny. "[Your uncle] says he won’t enter the house again (funny, he’d already been there this morning) until you apologise to him."
That was nothing new, he’d said that the week before. On the day I tried to tell him to stop tormenting his own mother about her money.
The new part? Her huge, pleading eyes and the whiny voice.
No fucking way, I thought. She wouldn't dare.
She dared.
“So what?”, I asked.
“Well, you know …”
"Huh?"
"..."
“You want me to apologise? You are aware I was defending you, right? I didn’t do anything wrong, but if you tell me to, I will apologise.”
“…”
“Do you want me to apologise?”
“Well, you know …”
“Do you want me to apologise?”
“… I have no choice!”
“Well, then.”
She did have a choice. He had already “entered the house” twice. He just had to put that cherry on top of his sundae of triumph. He told her he wouldn’t enter her house ever again several times before. When he’d argued with my dad (his brother). When she wouldn’t give him power of attorney. And he always came back.
So I “apologised”. I made sure he knew I didn’t do it willingly. I told him that from now on he can do whatever he wants; I won’t defend his mother again. He can rage, he can scream, he can demand money and power of attorney. I don’t care.
No choice, my ass.
This was just the continuation of the old habit of “they (my parents and me) are always there, no matter how I treat them. They may get angry but they’re always at my beck and call.” Now completed with a “she’ll get over it”.
Well, fuck you, lady.
I took a holiday to make sure you’re not “all alone by yourself! Whine!”™ when my parents take their two weeks’ worth of holidays.
We asked my uncle (who isn’t even related to you) to visit with us, too. Because the ray of sunshine that is your firstborn refused to look after you until you gave him power of attorney.
I was willing to sleep on an uncomfortable lumpy old couch so you didn’t have to be “all alone by yourself! Whine!”™ at night during that time.
I/we did that because you’re old and needy. I was willing to overlook how you’d treated the people I loved because I thought holding a grudge would be petty.
Well, fuck you, lady.
My grudge is back. And this time it’s here to stay. Call me petty if you want. I’d rather be petty than your puppet.
And your crocodile tears? Let those two charming, oh-so-successful bitches that are my cousins dry them. When they visit. If they visit. They life a whole kilometre away, after all.
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