I’m a big fan of “RuPaul’s Drag Race.” My mom is a child of the sixties, and I figure she would get a kick out of seeing the challenge where the drag queens perform in a musical where they have to sing and dance as Cher at different stages of her career.

We’re watching together and she seems amused, but it’s sort of like she doesn’t quite get what’s going on. Then, eventually, it clicks…

Mom: “Oh! They’re all men!“

Me: “More or less. Why did you think they were all dressed up as Cher? She’s been a gay icon for fifty years.”

Mom: “Well, I don’t know, honey. Your generation does all kinds of strange things. I’ve just learned to smile and nod and let you do whatever makes you happy.”

When “Canada’s Drag Race” became a thing, Mom particularly enjoyed the episode where the queens had to dress up as Celine Dion.

I am the OP of Junior Maid Causing Major Problems.

My sister-in-law is still causing issues with my wedding, through her demands for her daughter, who at the time of this story is still set to be one of my bridesmaids. I would uninvite her myself and have been harsher earlier, but she is my partner’s only living close adult relative and it’s important to me that I look after him and that he’s happy, so I’m happy to take on the burden of dealing with issues and to make sacrifices – to a point.

I did not want traditional bridesmaids so I had told everyone that they could choose a dress they really wanted, pursuant to coordinating it with me so it was appropriate and they all worked together. I was also happy to pay for the outfits because I really don’t like the expectation that people participate in a wedding pursuant to my requirements and have to spend their own money to do so, especially when it’s an expensive wedding.

I said three things: no navy, no one shoulder, no splits. Sister-In-law (also a bridesmaid), without checking with me, went and bought herself a one-shoulder navy dress with a side split. It clashed with my sister’s dress (the actual Maid of Honour), and the junior bridesmaid dresses.

My mother, sister and I spent hours and hours reorganising the other dresses to make it work, not just to match her, but because she looked like the d*** Maid of Honour instead of my sister. We also pissed thousands of dollars up against a wall doing this.

I was petrified that if I told her not to wear that dress she would do it just to spite me, and we decided to keep my sister’s new dress private so she couldn’t get something else to upstage her again.

I am lucky because we are in a financial position to do this (we’re not zillionaires but we both have well-paying jobs and investments), but I certainly resented it and that is not something that is usually possible for people. I’m tempted now to send her a bill.

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Junior Maid Causing Major Problems

My aunt often speaks without thinking, which leads her to say some very thoughtless and offensive comments. But if you can believe it, she doesn’t even mean to be offensive; she’s actually that brainless.

A few of us are at my grandmother’s house, watching a televised military parade. The commander is shown on TV, saluting the President.

Aunt: “Wow, his uniform is very bright. Look at how bright the colours are!”

Sister: *Politely* “Yes, very colourful.”

Aunt: “So colourful! But look at him!”

We’re all trying to ignore her, knowing that she’ll have an inane comment. 

Aunt: “His uniform is so bright! But he’s so dark!”

We try to change the subject quickly, but her loud voice cuts through our conversation.

Aunt: “Why is he so dark! Did they paint him?”

We all gawp at her. I know my jaw is hanging open, and a few cousins’ are, as well. My uncle jumps in hurriedly and tells her to be quiet.

Another day, my cousins and sisters are taking a group photo with our grandmother. My uncle offers to help us take the photo.

Aunt: “So nice to see all of you together in the photo with Grandma! She’ll be so happy!”

Uncle: “Girls, can you move closer together—”

He’s cut off by his wife.

Aunt: “It’s too bad, though, that [Other Cousin] isn’t here! She’s the one that Grandma really loves the most!”

All four of us turn and stare at her. My grandma doesn’t speak English and is confused as to what is going on. The photo group breaks apart, the mood spoiled. But my aunt remains utterly oblivious with an empty-headed smile.

Aunt: “Yeah, too bad [Other Cousin] isn’t here!”

A few minutes later, she is talking about a few of her friends who are coming to visit my grandma.

Aunt: “[Friend] and her daughter are coming. The daughter is in her twenties, a bit sub-normal, but very nice.”

Me: “Sub-normal?”

It’s only the sheer WTF!-ness of the adjective that stops me from saying more.

Aunt: “Yeah, she’s a bit sub-normal, but you can try talking to her; she can understand what you’re saying.”

I am so offended, I stalk off and won’t talk to her. I know if I say anything, it will get back to my mother, who always insists on us being polite. The daughter turns out to have very mild Down’s Syndrome, and only speaks a little more slowly than usual.

To avoid any further conversation with Aunt Brainless, I gather up all the dishes and wash them very slowly. Later, that aunt comes into the kitchen. She’s laughing loudly and carrying on as though at a huge joke.

Aunt: “You know, because you’re dressed plainly and were doing the washing up, they all thought you were the maid!” *Laughs loudly*

Me: “…”

Aunt: “Yeah, because you were washing the dishes. They thought you were the maid! Because you’re dressed so plainly!”

Me: *Flatly* “Well, I wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t come to tell me.”

Aunt: “Yeah, isn’t it funny?!” *Laughs louder*

She’s still oblivious, even now. Listening to her makes me want to bang my head against the wall.

This happens to me when I am about four or five years old. I don’t remember much of it, but the story is infamous in my family, so I know it well.

On a Friday afternoon, my parents drop my brother and me off at our aunt’s house to stay the weekend with her. When dinner time comes around:

Aunt: “Everyone has to eat a full bowl of veggies before I serve the main course.”

My bowl of veggies is full of steamed green beans. I HATE green beans and refuse to eat them. I sit at the table all night while everyone else eats their veggies, then spaghetti, and then chocolate cake for dessert. But I absolutely refuse to eat the green beans.

The next morning:

Aunt: “Here’s your green beans, [My Name].”

Again, I refuse. My parents do this with me to attempt to get me to eat foods I dislike because I am a picky eater. However, my aunt continues to offer me nothing but water and this bowl of green beans for every. Single. Meal. All weekend.

My parents return for us Sunday night to find me throwing up water in the bathroom, dazed and tired from not having eaten anything in over two days and only having had water, not even milk or juice.

We were never allowed to stay at that particular aunt’s house overnight ever again.

The kicker is that two weeks later, my parents made dinner with a side dish of green beans in seasoned rice and I loved it! My mom called my aunt right away to tell her all she had to do was season the d*** things.

I was laid off during the health crisis. I receive an offer for an even better-paying job, but it will take me out of the country and will take a long time to process my paperwork. As a result, I have to take another job to get me through the time period between the two positions.

The position I end up taking moves me from Michigan to Hawaii. The pay is substantially less than what I was making in Michigan but I figure that the experience working for the government is still very helpful for my career plans; plus, I get to live in a new place that few people get to experience.

While I know that living in Hawaii will come with its own unique drawbacks, the reality of the situation turns out to be worse than I anticipated. I’ve gone from having my own two-bedroom apartment to myself and putting thousands into my savings account every month to sharing a townhouse with two girls half my age who came to Hawaii to drink and party.

I am disappointed with the low pay rate offered by my subcontracting company. I manage to talk them up a little bit, but the rates they offer for mid- and senior-level positions are still unusually low for my field. I figure that not all contracts are created equal and maybe the government just isn’t paying them that much. Oh, how naively trusting I am. I talk about my pay rate with coworkers with fewer qualifications working lower roles and they ALL make more than me. It turns out that I have a really cheap staffing agency.

I still have plenty of savings, but I’m cutting costs to stay within my temporary budget because I’m trying to save my money. This also means that I am unable to return home for Thanksgiving.

All in all, I am really not liking life in Hawaii. I’m talking to my dad, griping about my life, and discussing holiday plans.

Me: “I’m going to splurge this week for Thanksgiving. Instead of my usual five-dollar frozen pizza, I’m going to splurge for a ten-dollar frozen pizza.”

Dad: “We’re going to be having yams, broccoli casserole, stuffing, prime rib… a pie…”

Me: “Well, Dad, I wish you a happy Thanksgiving and a hearty f**** you!”

My dad just laughed.