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Today started out awesome.

At 11am, I took my 2002 Ford Focus ZX5, which I am no longer able to drive because of the manual transmission and the bucket seats, to a dealer here in town.

I traded, flat-out, for a 1993 Mercedes 300E sedan, and it’s getting brand new tires put on it Friday.

The salesmen tried to corner me to tell me I was nuts to think I was going to get the trade I wanted.

They talked to me like I was stupid.

I showed them they were wrong.

I left happy.

I got home, fell asleep for several hours, and decided I wanted a nip of alcohol with my supper, so I went to the liquor cabinet.  There was nothing there.  I asked JB where it was.  He didn’t know, so he called his mom.

It turns out that, a few weeks ago, while I was having my NOM NOM NOM PILLS nights because I couldn’t sleep, she was under the impression that I was going to go through the liquor cabinet and turn into an alcoholic.  This is the girl who only drinks once every month, maybe.  An alcoholic?  Really?  Ooooookay, MiL.

She’d hidden the drinks in her closet.  I made one up, but I was still so pissed off at her that I couldn’t drink it any more.  If that’s not proof of my NOT being an alcoholic, then I don’t know what is.  The drinks are all in my sewing table now.  I have a feeling that’s where I’m going to be when I get the urge for alcohol, considering how poorly-suited for sewing I seem to be.

JB’s going to talk to her about over-stepping her boundaries.  I have some issues where that sort of thing is concerned, and I’m afraid if I tried to calmly explain to her why I don’t appreciate her hiding my things “for my own good,” I will devolve into a mess of yelling.  This is the sort of thing that forced my hand at leaving my dad’s house.  Except that this sort of things went on from when I was a small child onward.  I’m NOT a child.  I’m married, and JB and I are doing just fine.  We can leave if we need to, right now, but MiL says NOOOOO DON’T LEEEEEEAVE.  So we stay.  Then she wants to be in control of everything.

I’ll admit, having my laundry done is pretty nice.  Awkward, but nice.  But don’t come in my room and expect me to make it to your specifications, and sure as fuck don’t expect me to allow you to hide my things because you’re trying to “protect” me.  If nothing else, TALK TO ME.  I’m an adult.  Not a child.  Kthx.

(Disclaimer:  I adore my MiL, for the most part.  She’s fun, she knows what she knows, but when it comes to JB, she’s overly-controlling, because it’s luck that she was able to give birth to him at all.  I knew this going in.  I am, however, going to extricate myself from our relationship for a little while, to prevent a hateful situation from happening.  I’ve got enough other crap going on.  I don’t want my home life to be emotionally awkward, too.)

5 comments to Hrmph.

  • Ha. If she thought you were an alcoholic, maybe she’ll rethink that, since it took you WEEKS to notice the alcohol was moved.

    Hiding it was a weird way of dealing with it, though. How about, oh, I dunno… TALKING ABOUT IT?

  • I’ve been in JB’s shoes. The wife and I lived with my mom for a while when we first moved to the SF Bay Area. It took a lot of effort to get my wife to hold her tongue about Mom’s various annoyances, but in the long run it was very very worth it. If at all possible for you, I’d advise the same. My wife would imagine she was a little teapot and when it came time to boil over, she’d go to the gym. Eventually that wasn’t enough “away time” and she enrolled in a doctoral program with night classes. You too can end up with domestic tranquility, a non-frazzled husband, and a doctoral degree!

    You might even be in a better situation with your blog available. That is, I assume MiL’s not a blogreader, so venting here wouldn’t be an issue. :)

  • What the hell? If you were an alcoholic she’d know it. My mother thinks I drink too much if I have a beer after work every now and then (she’s a non-drinker) but she’d never go so far as to steal or hide my booze.

    What’s next, hiding your guns from you so you don’t hurt yourself? Geeze.

  • I hate dealing with car salespeople, too. You always feel like they are about to rip you off, even if they’re not. As for the alcohol, cheers!

  • Sigivald

    Those w124s (1986-94 or so E-Class) are sturdy, good cars.

    I suggest never touching the wiring harness unless you want to replace it. There were… issues. And it might fail anyway, if it hasn’t been replaced already.

    (On the plus side, replacement harnesses are readily available and people familiar with automotive work report replacement times in the 90 minutes range – which makes it an “easy” project, just removing one plug and plugging in another, until it’s all replaced.)