My oldest brother’s first wife was smart about some things and fairly daft about others. She also always managed to find a way to blame anyone but herself when things went wrong. And no matter what you knew about a topic, even if you were the master of the subject, she always knew more and waved away any suggestions you might have.

So, after a class in college about British history, she says that she wants to go to England to see some of the sites she’s been reading about. And she wants to go at a particular time, which is also a window of time that my brother’s job requires him to be at work.  

So, knowing I went to England when I was in college — eons ago — she asks me to go. Happily for me, I have used up most of my vacation time and “regretfully” tell her I cannot go. (I would sooner have gotten into a ring with an angry bull than go anywhere with this woman.)

She asks her dear friend to go with her, instead. A lot of face-palming goes on among the family because we have all met her friend and not only is she a major lush, she is also another “I know everything about this subject which I have only just heard of” person.  

My sister-in-law calls to ask how I got around England when I was there. I remind her I was on a two-week guided tour. No, they don’t want a guided tour. They want to be their own guided tour. How much were cars to rent? I tell her it’s not a good idea to rent or drive a car since the traffic is reversed. I tell her about the railway passes and the underground/tube and how public transportation is so wonderful that you never need to drive at all. I beg her not to drive. The travel agent begs her not to drive.

Nope, they want to drive all over the country on their own. It won’t be fun, otherwise. (These are two women in their mid-forties.) So, the tickets are bought, the plane and hotels are booked, and off they go.  

We figure we won’t hear from them for two weeks.

They call the first night to let everyone know they arrived safely.

She calls the next day to tell my brother that her friend dented the rental car by turning the wrong way out of the hotel parking lot and now they don’t have a car. She calls that night because she can’t find her friend. My brother asks her exactly what he is supposed to do from East Coast, USA. She calls an hour later to report she found her friend in the bar drinking with a bunch of men.

She calls the next morning to say she and her friend cannot stand each other and she wants to come home and get a refund on the trip. My brother calls the travel agent and has to pay all kinds of cash to end the trip, change flights, and make sure she and her friend are on different flights.  

She complains for weeks about the trip and how she can never go back because the country was completely ruined for her. My brother reminds her that she took a person she knew to be a loquacious alcoholic on a trip and let her drive a car in traffic that she wasn’t used to.  

Somehow it is all his fault, my fault, her parents’ fault, and the travel agent’s fault that she hadn’t listened to any of us.  

I’m happy to say that when they divorced, we had a nice little celebration.

(Every year for Thanksgiving, we have several family and extended family members come to our house, since we have a big dining room and a good-size living room, so there’s space for everyone to sit and eat. One year, my brother gets married and his wife invites her mother and her younger siblings to our home for Thanksgiving, giving me about two days’ notice about the six extra guests. Usually, I’m pretty informal about dinner, but on holidays, I insist everyone put away all technology and actually interact with each other while we eat. My sister-in-law’s youngest brother comes up to me.)

Youngest Brother: “I’ll take my food into the garage and play video games during dinner, thanks.”

Me: “No, you can’t do that. We all sit around the dinner table for dinner.”

Youngest Brother: *starts throwing a fit*

His Mother: “But we are your guests and you should accommodate his little quirks.”

Me: “He will eat at the table, or play games and not eat. His choice.”

(She storms out of the house with her children in tow.)

His Mother: “We’ll never come back!”

(Unbelievably, for two years we really don’t see them again even though they live less than thirty minutes away. My sister-in-law occasionally mentions that they would really like to come back for Thanksgiving and finally gets around to actually asking if they could come this year.)

Me: “I never banned them from the house or from celebrating with us. They are welcome but will be expected to eat at the table like the rest of us.”

(She says that is fine and invites the brood back. The youngest brother sits at the table, looks around at the food, and announces:)

Youngest Brother: “I want [Fast Food Place], instead.”

(I expect his mother or my sister-in-law to point out how ridiculous that is, but they are looking at me like this is a perfectly reasonable request.)

Me: “You can eat what is in front of you, or ask your mother about [Fast Food Place].”

His Mother: “But we’re your guests and you should accommodate us!

(She’s apparently really fond of that phrase! I give up on being polite at that point and simply say no.)

His Mother: “What do you mean, no?!” 

Me: “You’re a native English speaker. I’m sure you know the meaning of the word.” 

Youngest Brother: “My teeth hurt and I can’t eat anything but [Fast Food Place] chicken nuggets.”

(That is such an absurd statement I don’t even acknowledge it. His mother is busy turning a really alarming reddish-purple color and doesn’t say anything, either. Finally, after a few minutes of silence, the boy starts whining.)

Youngest Brother: “My lips hurt and I can only eat [Fast Food Place]!” *then yelling* “My whole mouth is hurting and I need chicken nuggets!”

(His mother is glaring at me as her son begins to really pitch a fit.)

Sister-In-Law: “[Fast Food Place] is open; you should just go out really quick and get him chicken nuggets.”

Me: “You’re welcome to go yourself and take him with you. I’ve cooked for two days and I’ll be d***ed if I am going to give in to this brat’s whining.”

(At me calling the boy a brat, his mother again stormed out with all her children in tow, including my sister-in-law. I have never been happier to be called a terrible host in my life, and I was so very relieved when my brother divorced that woman.)

(One of my sons is divorced, another one married. Whilst shopping, I run into a neighbour. After some small talk, I get this gem:)

Elderly Neighbour: “I’m so sorry that [Married Son] got divorced, too.”

Me: “Excuse me? I saw both [Married Son] and [Daughter-In-Law] yesterday and they are still happily married, devoted to their daughter.”

Elderly Neighbour: “But, but he is seen with this blonde woman all over the neighbourhood.”

(It was then that I realized that my daughter-in-law had recently lost a lot of weight — as my son put it: she’s only half the woman he married — and had her hairstyle changed — badly, I might add — and had changed from dark to blonde. We had a good laugh about it when I told my son he should me tell me when something important happens in his life.)

(My sister-in-law has some of the oddest friends, but none odder than this one. She is one of those people that knows everything about everything whether she is familiar with the subject or not. My brother has inherited an upholstered chair from my great aunt, with designs carved into its wooden trim and legs. The designs are of monkeys and camels. According to my aunt, it was a “soap chair” — her reference, not mine. All that means is that one of the relatives, as a child, had gotten the chair by selling so much soap for some company. If you sold a specific number of bars, one of the prizes you could choose from the company catalog was this chair. It was selected by–  I THINK — her younger brother as a gift for their mother. It’s not valuable by a long shot. One night, my sister-in-law and her friends are visiting and this friend sees the chair.)

Sister-In-Law’s Friend: *to my sister-in-law* “That chair is very valuable; where did you get it? I am sure it’s a Tibetan chair, probably from the temple of the Dalai Lama.”

Sister-In-Law: “What makes you say that?”

Sister-In-Law’s Friend: *indicates the camels carved into the trim and the monkeys carved into the legs* “They would have carved the animals from their country into the chair. This material on the cushions is very oriental-looking.”

(I have had enough; my father reupholstered the chair using material purchased at a local fabric store. I wait for her to take a breath, and I explain the story of my aunt and her brother selling soap and getting enough points to get the chair.)

Me: “In 1907, according to my aunt, monkeys and camels were a very popular motif on furniture. And Dad reupholstered the chair for her five years ago, remember, [Sister-In-Law]? It’s not from Tibet.”

(The whole assemblage stared at me as if I had just suggested we go strangle animals then turned back to my sister-in-law’s friend and asked more questions about the Dalai Lama. They started going on about how she was so much smarter than everyone else and wasn’t it wonderful that she was able to advise my sister-in-law about the chair so it could be evaluated by an antiques dealer. That was when I excused myself and walked back to my parents’ house where I told them all about the valuable Tibetan Temple Chair that my father had apparently never reupholstered. My father just shook his head and said something about people who thought a great deal of themselves and how stupid they really were. It was kind of a relief when my brother and his wife divorced and we were able to get rid of [Sister-In-Law’s Friend], too.)

(My mother-in-law believes that just because an item is on sale or on clearance that the item must be defective in some way or another. She and my father-in-law always had a really good income during their working years so money has never been an object. They are also Jewish — my mother-in-law converted when she married my father-in-law — and they have some very odd views about what “proper” Jews do. I am a Methodist who grew up in poverty but my mother taught me how to be really good shopper. I also used to work as a buyer for a large chain of liquidation stores so I know how clearance sales work. The following exchange happens when I am shopping at a major department store with my mother-in-law.)

Me: *seeing a 90%-off clearance rack of women’s clothing and outerwear* “Hey, [Mother-In-Law], let me check out that clearance rack; you never know what you can find on a clearance rack.”

(I start looking at the items and I find a gorgeous, classic-styled wool coat that retailed for $300 on clearance for $30. I grab it and try it on. It fits really well so I put it over my arm and look more at the clearance rack.)

Mother-In-Law: “I can’t believe that you are going to buy that piece of trash! It’s marked down that much because there is something really wrong with it! It’s probably coated with chemicals that are going to give you cancer.”

(She is a stereotypical neurotic mother and one of her paranoias is being exposed to chemicals.)

Me: “No, [Mother-In-Law], the reason it is on clearance is that it is simply what remained unsold after the winter clothing season ended.” *it is currently June* “Retailers purchase goods in lots, let’s say 100 items for this coat. Sometimes retailers don’t sell everything that they order by the time that the selling season for the item is over. The retailer progressively marks down the remainders until they are sold. Any items left over after the retailer has marked down the items to 90% or more are generally sold to secondary market retailers such as the liquidation retailer that I used to work for. The items aren’t marked down because the item is bad. It is just a remainder.”

Mother-In-Law: “But Jewish people don’t shop clearance sales because it is really tacky to buy something off of a clearance rack! Plus, there has to be something wrong with it for it to be on a clearance rack.”

Me: “Did you not hear what I just said? This coat is a classic wardrobe piece, anyway, and I need a nice coat to wear to meet clients in the winter. Anyway, my mother taught me to never pass up a good clearance rack because you never know what you might find.”

Mother-In-Law: “But why would you buy something off of a clearance rack if you can afford to pay full price for it?”

Me: “Uh, because I will have more money for other things by saving $270 on the coat.”

Mother-In-Law: “But it’s not our way to buy things off of a clearance rack! You need to convert to Judaism like I did so you can be just like me and learn how to buy things for full price!”

Me: “I am going to pay for this and then drive you straight home because you are making this shopping trip miserable.”

(My mother-in-law started screaming at me about how I was “disrespecting” the family legacy by shopping clearance sales and she made the drive back to her house miserable. I didn’t speak to her for several weeks.)