Let me preface this by saying that the story below probably has some spelling and grammatical errors because I was typing quickly.
And obviously, don't quote. Not because I'm afraid that this will get around, but because this shiz is long and if someone quoted this whole thing, they'd be like the biggest d!ck ever.
XOXO.
DH’s folks went home to Bangladesh for five weeks back in Sept/Oct. Ever since the return, BIL (here, that’s stands for beeyotch-in-law) has been worse and worse toward me.
First off, DH and I are planning to go to Bangladesh in April. She’s angry about that, though we’ve been planning for it and uh…it has nothing to do with her.
Then, a few weeks ago, we had to attend a birthday party for a one-year-old – the son of a family friend of his parents. His parents call us the night before to ask us what time we’re getting there (I don’t understand crap like that…don’t you get somewhere at the time the invite says the party starts?!) and then his mom asks to speak with me. I get on the phone and she starts telling me how she wants me to wear this one particular Indian outfit that she gave me (she’s given me, like, 20 of them). And it’s not even in a “I love how this outfit looks on you and I’d love to see you wear it again” kind of way. It was “I have friends coming to this party and I want you to wear this”. I was so caught off guard that I just said “I’ll figure out what I’m wearing when I wake up in the morning” and then said goodbye.
So, OF COURSE I didn’t wear any of my Indian outfits. I wore a purple dress and green tights and a headband. And now that my hair had been dyed red, I realized that I looked like Daphne from Scooby Doo. Which is okay, I guess. I mean, at least I didn’t look like Velma.
His mom only said hello to me at the party, nothing else. Shoot, I’m sooooo sad about that.
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NOT. She sat there with a sourpuss look on her face.
Following weekend (Thanksgiving weekend). We spend Thanksgiving with my aunt and uncle and their kids. Saturday we have a get-together at DH’s cousin’s house. His aunt and uncle recently returned from Hajj (the Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca) and it’s customary to host people after they return, and usually close relatives are invited as well. Last Saturday was GORGEOUS, so I was sitting in the yard with a cousin who I rarely get to chat with, just talking and getting to know her and stuff. DH’s parents show up. I wave hello from the yard, figuring I’d go in in a few minutes to say hello. Well. BIL (beeyotch-in-law) sends DH outside to ask me why I didn’t come in. And why I’m hanging out in the yard. Um. It’s the end of November and it’s beautiful outside. That’s why. So I go in – at this point more people had arrived – and his mom wrangles me to a corner with some other old farty pompous ladies and starts saying how wonderfully DH’s cousin hosts these parties and blah blah blah. Which is true, she does a FANTASTIC job. But the next thing BIL says is how ALL OF THE NEW BRIDES IN THE FAMILY SHOULD TAKE TRAINING FROM THIS COUSIN so we can know how to host properly.
I am the only new bride in the family.
B.I.T.C.H.
And furthermore, last year when DH and I wanted to host Eid at our house, she called everyone and told them that we cancelled it. Even though we didn’t. So people made other plans.
So, I’ve never had the opportunity to host anything for them.
HOW IN THE F**K DOES THIS BEYOTCH KNOW MY HOSTING ABILITIES?
I just got up and walked away after she said that.
Then. Still at the party, she’s eating cookies I made. Molasses. You know, the kind that you roll in sugar before baking.
Tells me that I didn’t use enough sugar.
I say “I followed the recipe, tastes fine to me”
Tells DH that I used TOO MUCH sugar.
He ignored her.
Balls-to-the-wall CRAZY.
(Prior to all of this, DH had invited his parents over to our house for lunch on Sunday. Keep that in mind as this story continues.)
So, anyway. We’re leaving the party. I go in the hall to get my shoes on and DH is telling his aunt – the one that just came back from Hajj – that we need to have her over, with her husband, sometime soon. She says that she wants to come over but not until we have our Christmas tree up, because she wants to see what a real Christmas tree is like in a home (as in, all that she has seen are the super perfect ones in malls and wants to see our unique ornaments). I thought that was sweet.
Then BIL has to open her ugly mouth, albeit in Bengali so I don’t understand what she’s saying. Alls I know at this point is that she said something wicked and DH walked into the hall (where I was) with a look on his face.
He says he needs to go to Guitar Center. So, I know it’s a big deal. But that he needs to sort it all out in his head before he tells me what she said. Okay, that’s fine.
We drive to Guitar Center and he tells me what she said.
- That DH and I don’t put up a Christmas tree. (Then she was told we do.)
- So, that it is DISGUSTING that we put up a Christmas tree.
- And that she will not set foot in our house knowing that we put one up.
So initially I’m like “hmm, not surprised”…but as I think about it more and more, I’m like “wait a minute…I celebrate their holidays without being critical. My parents embrace that. They send his parents cards for their holidays. I go to the mosque on their holidays…” (this is all in my head and I’m saying it to DH).
We go to Guitar Center, we’re there for like ever, head home. DH treats me to Starbucks because he knows it always cheers me up.
Once home, I crash. I just pass out. DH plays guitar and wakes me up at about 2 a.m. Once I’ve slept on it a bit, I’m like…wait a minute, I don’t want her at our house for lunch tomorrow! (I kinda forgot about it). I’m not serving her food! Fuuuuuuuuuk that! So I tell DH that I will call her in the morning and tell her that it’s cancelled and EXACTLY WHY IT IS CANCELLED.
And you know what DH said?
He said:
GO FOR IT. I SUPPORT YOU.
That’s all I needed. Not that I didn’t think he supported me, but dang. I needed to hear it.
So in the morning I woke up and called BIL at 10:30 and said that it was cancelled because I was bothered and disturbed by comments she had made recently.
She feigns ignorance. ‘What comments?’
I tell her about the ‘wear-this-to-the-kid’s-birthday-party’ thing first. She tries to spin it in another way, of course. But then she says something about traditions, which I use as the MOST PERFECT SEGUE into the bigger issue: our Christmas tree. Because THAT is a tradition that is important to me (and at this point, important to DH – he loves it!).
OH. MAH. GAWD. The screaming and denying and more screaming from her was INSANE. Crazier than Crazy Eddie! She started denying that she said it, saying how would I know what she said since I don’t speak the language? I said “a reputable source told me” and she said that they were wrong, thinking that it was one of DH’s cousins. I was like “no…it was your son who told me. Why would he lie? Why would he make this up?” to which she started accusing him of having some kind of mental defect. And then she yelled more – telling me that I am not the right person for her son, that I am not the right color or religion for him, that she doesn’t know where we found the imam that married us but that he was wrong too (!), and that if she could have picked her son’s wife then it definitely WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN ME.
And ladies, I stuck to my guns! I did not let these comments waver me from the main issue – the Christmas tree and her comments about that! She got no reaction out of me about any of those above comments – all I said was “that’s not what I called you for – I called you about the Christmas tree comments you made”. So since I stuck to my guns, she started screaming more about how I am the worst daughter-in-law in the world. At that point, I just said “you know what, I didn’t call for this, you know how I feel about you and that’s it” and hung up on her.
DH was listening to all of it. And he said that I did really, really well and has no problem with anything I said or how I said it.
And then she called him a couple of hours later and screamed at him, though we have no idea what she said because it was just incessant screaming. But she ended the conversation with calling DH a ‘fcuking b!tch” (I don’t think she knows that that’s a term primarily used to insult a woman) and then said to DH….
“F**K YOU AND F**K YOUR IN-LAWS”
Yep. Because my parents had what, exactly, to do with any of this?
And he hung up on her. And hasn’t spoken to her since.
And that, as they say, is that.
