Friday Guest Mock: An Anonymous Man’s In-Laws…Enjoy:

2011 May 6
by mockers

All right, everybody settle down.  I’s gots a yarn ta spin. It’s about the day I decided that I truly realized that that my in-laws were, well, let me just go ahead and start…

My in-laws have always been an odd bunch, but fortunately they are just far enough away that visits are only 4, maybe 5 times a year.  Mom-in-law always has an ailment and a penchant for overreacting.  I think her shoulder has been replaced something like 8 times and she’s had various other maladies of which she’s had major surgical work done.  You’d think she would be “Bigger, Stronger, Faster,” but it was not to be.  Instead, she’s “Tired, gaspy and gripey.”  As far as over reacting goes, it’s not in that flinging the remote control into the bird-cage because you spilled a drink on her carpet type of overreaction.  She’s the kind that scares the hell out of you when you’re driving and she suddenly gasps out loud because a car 400 yards ahead of you switched lanes.  She lets out a desperate breath of air and grabs onto the dashboard, leaving you with your head on a swivel, panicking and looking for impending death.  Oh, and she’s also one of those that has to lodge a complaint most everywhere she goes.  Don’t have her correct shoes size, lodge a complaint.  Biscuits too hard, lodge a complaint.  Biscuits too damn fluffy, lodge a complaint.  You get the picture.  We’ve sat through many a meal with her, wishing we could just melt into the carpet while she goes on and on with the teenage waitress, griping about the soap in the restroom leaving a film on her hands and how they need to plant a tree in front of that window because at this time of year, the sun is too bright.

My pops-in-law is what would happen if Barney Fife and Clark Griswold had a miracle baby.  He’s sorta bumbling, full of cockamamie ideas, but means well.  He’s really a nice guy, but one day he’s gonna be responsible for another person’s death.  He nearly ran a chainsaw over my thigh while trying to “help” cut up a tree.  I’ve watched my life flash before my eyes many times while out on a drive and he’s swerved into oncoming traffic while pointing out where his favorite fruit stand used to be.  Maybe my mother-in-law has something there (but is it necessary to do that when a pen rolls off the coffee table?  Seriously!)  But, I digress.  If there was a movie trailer for his life, I have always imagined the last few seconds showing a closeup of him tooling down the interstate from the vantage point looking at him through the front windshield.  Maybe he’s listening to some upbeat Beatles tune.  The camera slowly draws back revealing more of the world he has left behind and it’s just an apocalyptic wasteland.  Cars wrecked everywhere, buildings in flame, black sky filled with acrid smoke.  That sorta chaos.  And the kicker is that he’s totally oblivious to the mess he’s made.

My wife’s sister.  Here we go.  First of all, I lay a lot of blame for the way she is on the two mentioned above.  I think they quit trying.  She’s the second child and one of those that parents affectionately say that if they were their first, there wouldn’t be a second.  I’d take it a step further.  If she were my first, I’d put her in a Hefty sack and fling her off into a lake.  But that’s just me.  She HAS to have attention.  She always calls to tell us about her kid, but never asks about ours.  We recently found out that she is procreating…once again.  I gotta think that life is hell down where they are because I imagine she’s lounging while my in-laws are fanning her with palm leaves and her reclusive husband, who I’ve probably only spent a grand total of 2 hours with in the past 10 years, pops grapes or bon bons into her gaping maw.  She’s very self-centered and is always asking questions like “Can you tell if I’m showing, because, you know, I’M PREGNANT?”  or “Aren’t you happy that I’M PREGNANT?  Isn’t it just great for ME?”  Before this pregnancy (did I mention she was pregnant?), she was always bringing attention to her tits.  She was very proud of them and I must admit that she was certainly blessed, but unfortunately they were attached to something much worse.  I imagine right now she’s in heaven with her big ol’ meaty, PREGNANT boobies.  She probably stares at them for hours on end and asks her husband, “Do you think my breasts have grown larger since I’VE BECOME PREGNANT?”

One of the few things that we do as a family when we all get together is eat.  It’s always an ordeal and somebody winds up offended or at least hungry.  Dinner with them is kinda like an old movie where a bunch of street urchins get invited to the big house on the hill because this rich kid made friends with them after a clandestine mission just to see what life was like outside the palatial manse.  He was JUST…SO…BORED with this life, having everything handed to him.  Anywho, they set the kids down at the table full of turkeys, hams, pastries, fruit and they are just sitting there, mouths agape, eyes spinning.  Well, dinner with the in-laws is like what happens when they let those little street fuckers loose on the food.  All teeth and elbows.  I grew up in a fairly civilized home and you always politely asked for something and always offer someone else the last of anything because, well, that’s the proper thing to do.  Not with these loons.  When the lazy Susan turns something to you, you better grab it or you don’t get it.  I’ve learned, even though it goes against my core being, to act like a savage just to get my fair share of a meal with them.  My father-in-law is two-fisting chicken legs and furiously scanning the table for scraps, while my sister-in-law is raking out the last 3 helpings of tater salad, not even acknowledging that her mom never got any in the first place.  In fact, my wife’s mother is the only one who doesn’t act like she’s been trapped in a cave for 5 days.  She’s too busy panicking as the salt shaker tips over.

So, I guess I’ve established that they are bat-shit crazy and that meal times are a hoot to say the least.  Well, the incident I have in mind happened at our house.  In attendance were my crew (wife, our daughter and myself, my mother and father-in-law, and sis-in-law and her daughter.  My wife’s father decided to spring for dinner this fine evening.  For the 7 of us, he bought one whole fried chicken and a side or two from the grocery store.  If you do the math, already, it’s looking like I may need a snack later.  I’m no small fella and I love fried chicken.  This doesn’t look to be a good sign.  Once the chicken box was opened, which is the universal sign for “Every man for himself,”  the scrambling began.  My wife, ever the servant, grabs the drumsticks for the kids, lest they go without.  Dad immediately grabs for a breast and immediately takes a bite, kinda like the way you used to lick your food at school to keep your grubby buddies from snatching your fries.  Mom gets a thigh and the sister grabs the other breast (go figure).  Now, I’m the family fat-ass and my mother-in-law, bless her, realizes that and seems to enjoy providing for me.  She’s always cooking something up special for me.  I think it’s a plot between her and my wife to split the life insurance cash.  Well, I like to think mom was looking out for me when she sorta scolds my wife’s sister (a 30+ year old adult, remember) for grabbing the last breast.  Sis immediately goes into defense mode and scoffs loudly and tosses the breast back in the box.  The attitude immediately starts.  Words were exchanged between the two of them, and liking peace in my household, told her to be my guest and please, take the breast, to which, she did.  I scratched around in the sad remains of the once-majestic creature and offered my wife her choice of the left overs.  What I was left with was a thigh and a wing.  I’m a full-on chicken snob.  I don’t do that bottom shelf, dark meat poultry booooool-shit.  That’s for the folks in steerage.  I grabbed the measly wing and slowly ate it, thinking about what I was gonna have next.
Dinner was finished and all the containers were scraped clean, nothing left.  Looked like the fairgrounds after all the rides leave.  Just paper products, crumbs and a lonely feeling.  I decided to fore go “family time” with this bunch of wild apes and left for some Taco Bell and to grab a sixer of Yuengling.  This had the makings of a long weekend.


4 Responses leave one →
  1. 2011 May 6
    Valentin permalink

    “I imagine right now she’s in heaven with her big ol’ meaty, PREGNANT boobies.” I think we need to see a picture to fully comprehend this story…..

  2. 2011 May 6
    Valentin permalink

    I don’t blame you about the chicken thigh either. That’s the worst part. I love some breast though if you hadn’t already noticed.

  3. 2011 May 6

    While I do love a good set of tits, you guys can keep your dry-assed tasteless chicken breast. I’ll take the dark meat, thank you. Same goes for turkey.

    The MIL sounds just like mine when it comes to riding in the front seat. Gasping for air, acting all shocked, putting her fucking feat on the dash to brace herself from my impending crash into the car 1/2 a mile ahead of us. Drives me fucking crazy.

    I do want to see that SIL’s tits though. The pregnant ones, if you please. Or the regulars would be fine too.

  4. 2011 May 6
    Valentin permalink

    It almost seems as if Jeff wrote this, seeing as there is talk about crazy in-laws and beer. Ha, I guess anybody could have typed it.

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