This Ought to be Fun

It’s early morning and instead of sleeping, I’m awake and thinking about sending the Squeeze a text to say “good luck, don’t let her stab you…”   He woke me with a kiss to the cheek as he left to go to his doom.  I feel like an old fashioned wife watching her man go off to war…

If I had my reservations yesterday on how this would play out; well suffice to say that uncertainties are no longer uncertain.  Before he was going in cold but being slightly up with the tent issue.  Of course I’m looking at the “tent issue” from a normal, sane perspective (well; as sane as I get which is a whole world of sane more than the harridan.)  For myself, if I’d just taken over someone else’s property, I’d feel contrite and therefore start the meeting on the back foot.  Since she doesn’t even realise this is a meeting and she is a raving lunatic, I’ve no doubt the same rules do not apply.

Last night, mummy psycho launched a whole new attack with the squeeze in the role of “the stepfather” or maybe just any run of the mill “kid killer”.  Weird really, because he has spent far too long with this cow and seriously needs to let them stand on their own two feet a little, which he is beginning to do…  But back to mummy psycho.

How did it start..?  Well that is my cue to take a bow.  The jeans.

A few days ago, the Squeeze sent an email to Boy 1 with a link to the pair of jeans that could be purchased at the same website I’d purchased them from (birdsnest – really groovy clothes site and lots of Jag) saying:

Boy 1, these are the jeans she is missing and she is quite angry about this - as she should be - someone has come into my room and taken her stuff.  No accident either since they removed the belt; and that is not on.  I do not want strangers in my room or in the house for that matter.   This needs to be resolved quickly.

For those that don’t understand my reference to the squeeze’s inability to communicate – this email is almost War and Peace – and it gets to the point and says exactly what has to be said.  He follows up with a phone call and Boy 1 tries to wheedle out of it but the evidence is pretty strong.  We are away.  My jeans were left there, with belt.  He brings slapper home.  My belt is on floor.  Ugly harry high rise jeans are on the floor.  My jeans are gone.

Now having a raving nut case who treats you like a kid constantly is seriously poor mothering and creates weirdo Peter Pan children that never grow up and constantly remain ‘mummy’s boy’ forever, which is unfair to the kids and a rather pathetic way to tie them to your apron strings.  (Well either Peter Pan or Anthony Perkins out of Psycho – frankly, I’m almost liking the Psycho choice…)

But due to the email and discussion on the jeans, Boy 1 calls and cries to mummy.  WTF?  He is twenty-freaking-five!  He bought a thief into the house!  Of course the Squeeze is going to be angry – and with good reason!!!!  The sook routine annoyed me more than her ranting because hell, this kid has obviously never been taught the idea of ‘accountability’!  And how are you supposed to make it in the real world like that?  You can’t call mummy to come slay the dragon every time you stuff up!

As for her… I’m sure I got an extremely watered down version but it basically went “how dare you give Boy 1 a hard time, blah blah”.  And he was good with the “it’s none of your business.”  Way cooler than I would have been under the circumstances.  Voice, ice cold with just an underlying hint of scorn and anger (that I secretly enjoy lol) Of course I noticed that as soon as I went for a shower he ran for the phone to check messages – probably to delete the nut’s brutal and scathing follow up.

How the Squeeze managed to survive in the same house with her, without being able to have a say or an opinion; incapable of chastising the kid, is beyond me.  Frankly, I’d have grabbed a shovel and a bag of lime ages ago.

And I’m sure I won’t get the real version of Boy 1’s response either because I was ready for it!

The link sent had this fantastic body, wearing my jeans and I was waiting for something along the lines of “they don’t look like her jeans, that’s for sure” or as equally mean since I dared to complain that someone has stolen my stuff!  I was ready to reply “and yet the chick he bought home for the night was obviously my size!  And probably in her early 20s!  I’m 48 and have had 3 children!”

But with the squeeze vetting things, I never got the opportunity to say it. 

Why does he ruin all my fun...?