4th of July (Terror Tale)

When you think of the 4th of July you think of the hot summer air, hot dogs and burgers grilling, and everyone gathered around for fireworks. What you don’t think of is a mother-in-law who takes inappropriate conversations to a whole new level…

Almost a year ago I actually had 4th of July off and was excited to celebrate it with my now husband. I was thrilled about the opportunity to spend a sunny summer day with J and wanted nothing more than to spend that time relaxing by the pool, sipping on an umbrella drink. My MIL from hell, however, had other ideas. Every holiday, whether we celebrate it or not, is a big production for her. So, she insisted that we celebrate 4th of July how she normally does it. I figure, how bad can this be?… I was sooo wrong.

Now, before I go any further, let me just explain the we live in Missouri. That means that the summers are blistering hot and so humid that all the windows will fog up. You step outside and when you take a deep breath you can feel the moister in your lungs. So the first thing anyone in Missouri thinks of when talking about 4th of July usually revolves around water. It is the only way to beat the heat. So when she says celebrate 4th of July how she does, I’m thinking it will involve water in the equation eventually. Or maybe just staying inside a lot, which I wasn’t a fan of since working so much rarely affords me time in the sun. But this is how their routine goes. First, the men separate from the women and they go play golf… in the blazing sun. For hours. The women, however, go shopping. For hours. I can’t think of anything I would want to do less on my precious time off than spend it with my mother-in-law on a hot day shopping rather than be outside in the coveted sun.

This unexpected separation of sexes proved to be detrimental. For her, it was divide and conquer. Without my hubby there to back me up, or at least deter her attacks, I was a sitting duck… We go to a large clothing store, for older women, and as we’re walking in I’m in the middle of telling her a story. As soon as we step in the door she interrupts me and says, “honey, don’t you need to shop in the big girls section?” My face obviously had a look of confusion. I’m thinking is this divided into petite and regular? I look around and realize, no, she’s once again just being her normal, hateful self. So I say “no” and simply go back to my story, trying to take the high road. She stops me again and says, “are you sure? what size are you, like a size 10?” Again, I was 130 lbs, so that was about 3-4 sizes larger and clearly not anywhere close to what I would wear. And I simply say “no” and am trying to move the conversation on when she stops me a third time with, “well what size do you wear?” She says this over and over and no matter how hard I try to change the subject this woman won’t let up, insisting I tell her my size and, again, trying to make a dig at my weight. Too bad for her I don’t have a complex about that, I’m just really irritated at her blatant, cruel attempts to make me feel like less of a person.

As the day wears on we move on to the dressing rooms and my MIL trys on outfit after outfit. Her sister and sister-in-law are also there and are trying on a few things themselves. I didn’t find anything that was my type and it was only the first store so I’m in the dressing room more for moral support, giving the “looks great” or “it’s not for you” that every woman needs when buying clothes. I’m sitting on a settee by a large mirror when one of J’s aunts comes out in a lovely top. I of course do my duty and say “it looks wonderful.” She smiles, happy that even women who shop in the women’s section can still look fabulous and steps back into her dressing room to try on something else. Then, out steps my MIL. She’s in a black dress with a floral pattern on it and immediately looks at herself in the large mirror. She turns to me for my opinion and before I can give it says, “why aren’t you trying anything on?” and I tell her I didn’t find anything that I cared for. She hammers me more, ” you mean to tell me, you couldn’t find anything in this whole store that you liked?” and I say no, that I have a hard time finding things that fit length-wise due to my height. Anyone who’s shopped for clothes and is over 5’5″ knows if it fits in length, it won’t fit everywhere else, this holds true and even worse for clothes in the women’s department (as opposed to juniors). She hears this and gives me that same venomous look that I see every time right before she strikes. Her little beady eyes narrow. “You bitch!” she says harshly and runs back into her dressing room… I am left to pick up my jaw off the settee, alone.

The evening is coming to an end it is finally time to meet back up with the boys. I cannot wait to see J, I’ve been sending him distress signal texts ever since the “bitch” comment and I’m thrilled that the countdown can begin. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and I am running for it. We’re all in the hot car, driving back when my MIL begins to tell me about a book she’s been reading. She tells me it’s called 50 shades of gray and asks if I’ve ever heard of it. I say no, but I had seen a lot of people posting about reading it on facebook. I absolutely love to read and I thought this was great that so many people were starting to read. She seemed excited too and goes on to tell me what the book is about. She explains she has the entire trilogy and has read them all… Anyone who has read about or heard of this book knows why this day just went from bad to worse. She’s referring to an erotic novel that is extremely graphic in nature. And if this conversation didn’t get awkward enough, she proceeds to talk about fisting. Now, like I said before I did go to public school and my junior high was actually in the ghetto so I have seen and heard some pretty rough stuff before, but this is by far was the worst. She even gets on her phone and googles pictures of it, passing her phone around to the other women in the car. I felt like I had just been violated. I send a frantic text to my husband, an SOS for help, but there is no hope. I’m trapped in this moving car with this disgusting woman had have to listen until she’s done. No amount of effort to change the subject will stop her. And if this isn’t bad enough, she begins to talk about her sex life with her husband, J’s father… Yes, that’s exactly what I want to hear, my MIL talking about two senior citizens getting it on and their sexually deviant habits in the bedroom. I’m pretty sure I just vomited… That was it, I was done, I could not listen to another word from her. I open my mouth to object and before I can get anything out she says, “now what about you and J, how are you two…” She asks me about having sex with her son… And there is was. The bomb had been dropped. I had officially been verbally slapped across the face. I had been insulted about my weight, called a bitch, had to listen to a disgusting conversation about sexual acts between her and her husband, and now I was being questioned about my sexual life with her son! I’m pretty sure I blacked out because what happened next I could not be responsible for…