She is on her honeymoon. The ink's barely dried on her divorce papers (okay, it's been probably 8 months since her divorce, 23 months since her separation), and she's taken up with M.W.'s [former] best friend, newly married [in what I imagine was a gaudy and completely common wedding, without a lick of originality, and lots of white roses and pomp and tawdry details, with all of her friends who pretend to like her because she's nice to their faces, but she's really a shrew in a nurse's uniform] on a Mediterranean Cruise. The bitch. That's not why I hate her today.
Today... her son and his new wife are moving out of her house, and into their first apartment as a married couple. All of the way from the sunny cruise, she called to make sure that Kiki knew that if I were present to help move... I was not allowed into the house.
Come again? Yes, she said that if I came over to help the Newlyweds, I could not enter her ugly-ass house. (No, I'm not being spiteful... it's an ugly design, adding in the poorly applied "faux" paint finish and the pansy-tapestried club chairs with ruffles at the bottom... Sally's house is frighteningly "keep-up-with-the-Jones-ish" and even moreso "I don't have an eye for decorating, so I copy my girlfriends, so we can all have matching HOUSES in MATCHING SUBURBS and we can all eat MEAT AND POTATOES EVERY NIGHT BECAUSE WE ARE ORDINARY... but not just ORDINARY ordinary... WE're SNOBS about it!")
Okay... I'm a little more than pissed at her today, and I'm a little more than hurt that she should tell her daughter not to let me in the house. Because Kiki would let me in the house... but she also did just what her mom wanted her to do -- tell me that I'm not "supposed" to.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment