So I decided that 10 screaming children were preferable to the verbal bitch-slaps at the table and took my food into the kids' area to "monitor the children." I got my kids to worry down two or three crown-shaped "chicken" nuggets and a few greasy fries without hurling, and I ate a "hamburger."
|This is what nuggets are made of : nugget paste. Yummy, right?|
Then my MIL decided she'd rather bear the kid-noise and talk to me rather than deal with her progeny calling her out on her bullcrap, and joined me at my table.
Her first point of discussion: my teenage step-son stinks. As if I didn't notice. She said she bought him some medicated acne soap that should kill the stinky germs. And she bought him some deodorant.
My response was that we've got plenty of soap and deodorant, but 1), he's autistic, 2) he's 14, 3) he's a boy, and 4) his main personality trait is apathy. To put it bluntly, he stinks because he won't bathe because he doesn't care enough to bother. He turns the hot water on full blast, gets wet before it heats up too much, then stands out of the spray and watches it go down the drain until all the hot water is gone. Then he gets out, doesn't dry off, and sits on his bed, lost in imagination. So (sucks for him) my husband has had to start monitoring his showers again like he's a 5 year old.
And it all went in one ear and out the other. My MIL's rebuttal was that we just weren't giving him the right soap.
We've got deodorant soap.
She argued; I went back to eating french fries.
So, since I didn't engage, she tried a different tack. "Maybe he's playing with his new toy."
"What new toy?"
"I heard a story years ago about a poor farmer whose teenage son needed new clothes and a new toy, but the farmer only had enough money to buy one or the other. So he bought a new pair of overalls and cut a circle out of the front of them, so he could play with his 'toy' he'd just discovered."
She laughed. I was mortified. As were the other three sets of parents within earshot. She didn't notice, kept laughing, and went towards the door, then loudly said, "YOU KNOW, HIS TOY DOWN THERE," while gesturing at her crotch.
Then she went back to her table. She wasn't laughing because she'd embarrassed me on purpose - she didn't even seem to realize I was embarrassed and disgusted and wanting to barf- she just thought she was so very funny and clever with her story.
My SIL came in, looking interested and amused, and said, "You know, you have a very expressive face. What did she just say to you?"
I told her, and she simply hung her head, then looked at the other parents, and said, "I'm so sorry she had to share her crazy with the rest of you."
The irony is that he hasn't discovered his toy down there yet, even though now he's 15.
But, for real, iocane powder. Send me some.
(Legal disclaimer: I won't actually poison her. She's old. I'll just wait.)