untitledmother-in-law has no faults, other than her unbridled lust for cheap vinyl shoes and her dogged desire to spoil her youngest son to the point where all life skills wither away and he’s forced to return to her bosom where he can quite literally spend the remainder of his days sucking the life out of her. Far be it from me to let a sweet, god-fearing woman escape my unforgiving death ray of judgment and criticism. So here goes.
Whenever the whole fam damnly gets together to go out to eat, shop, or watch “Gaither Homecoming” at the local titty bar, untitledmother-in-law’s mind starts a-working. No sooner do we burst out of the house and pour out into the front yard than she breaks out her abacus to see just how many adults can fit into the least amount of vehicles. “I’m sure we can get by with two cars if Uncle Charlie sticks his feet out the sunroof and if Aunt Tess sits on my head,” she cheerfully reports.
Good god. If I had a dime for every time she said the words “I’m sure we could get by with,” it just might equal the amount of money she has saved in her lifetime by buying Dr. Thunder and Toasty O’s and weaving rugs out of old plastic bread sacks. She finds special joy in shopping the clearance racks at Wal-Mart – all while lamenting about how sad it is that her husband’s factory is cutting back on raises and moving jobs overseas. This is a woman that not only pinches pennies, she puts them into an industrial compress, grinds them into dust and then peppers her ramen noodles with them. untitledhusband once asked her how it feels to steal milk money from the five year-old Cambodian child who made her $3 shirt. She pretended not to hear, even though she knew it was a valid point.
The fact that nothing gets her more wet than Crazy Days at the dollar store makes her habit of purchasing anything sold via a “party” perplexing. She recently dropped $235 on, of all things, stamping paraphernalia. To this day, it all sits unused in a box in her bedroom. For fuck’s sake. Imagine the amount of honest-to-goodness brand-name cereal you could’ve bought with that kind of money. You could’ve blown your colon to the moon and back with the amount of fiber contained in that much breakfast food.
Some may say that it’s selfish and wasteful to indulge in such frivolities as circulation and safety, but sweet Jesus, what’s the harm in taking three cars? I would gladly sell $5 hand jobs at my son’s lemonade stand if it meant the money earned would go towards taking a third car. She has this “make-do” mentality, where if we’re not all getting by with less than we need, we’re being wasteful. It’s the same line of thought that compels her to cut a 9 X 12 birthday cake into 60 pieces. And may I go on record as saying that as a fat chick, I find nothing fun about fun-sized food.
But alas, all these thoughts remain in my head. I have yet to say, “How about we live a little and take THREE cars!” Perhaps it’s because the propulsion expert in me knows that if we get into an accident, I would be safer with three people on each side of me. Since untitledmother-in-law was too cheap to spring for the side curtain airbags, each person would act as cushioning agent against the oncoming death blow. There now. I KNEW if I dug deep enough, I’d find some logic in taking two cars.