My husband and I usually spend Thanksgiving with a close friend instead of going to our families’ homes. This year, our friend’s fifteen-year-old son invited his girlfriend, also fifteen. She is about as mentally stable and secure as most fifteen-year-old girls. She thinks [Son] should only do things they can do together, he should always hold her hand, and he should absolutely never talk to any other women.
As the only woman at the meal that [Son] is not related to, I am obviously a threat and she treats me as such. I was seventeen when [Son] was born and babysat him a lot growing up, so we are pretty close, but I’ve never looked at him as a prospective boyfriend.
I stopped drinking several months ago because of a complication with one of my medications, so I have been trying out different non-alcoholic substitutions. I bring a four-pack of this substitution to the gathering and put it in the garage. [Son] and [Girlfriend] are sitting out there by themselves. [Girlfriend] sees me and starts crawling in [Son]’s lap and trying to kiss his neck.
Me: “Hi there.”
Girlfriend: “Bye there.”
She waves me off.
Me: “What’s going on?”
She sits back in her seat and glares at me while [Son] gives me a fist bump and laughs.
When the meal is ready, we are all seated at the table. [Girlfriend] strolls in last, drinking one of my non-alcoholic beers and looking right at me.
Friend: “[My Name]…?
Me: “Yeah, that’s mine. What are you doing, [Girlfriend]?”
Girlfriend: “It’s not real beer, so it’s not illegal.”
Friend: “It’s also not polite to help yourself to things that aren’t yours.”
[Girlfriend] shrugs and keeps drinking.
Son: “Sorry, [My Name]. I’ll give you some cash for it.”
Girlfriend: “Why?”
Son: “Because you just stole that!”
Me: “Let’s just eat.”
Girlfriend: “It’s basically soda, anyway.”
[Girlfriend] chugs the rest of the drink. I don’t know if you know what happens when you down a carbonated beverage in a few seconds, but [Girlfriend] learns. She burps so loud, I think her throat is sore. [Son] laughs out loud and [Girlfriend] glares at me.
Throughout the meal, [Girlfriend] continues intercepting dishes as I ask for them, talking over me, and just being a classic mean girl.
When dessert comes, I bring out my pies and set one at each end of the table. When they come to her, [Girlfriend] picks one up and shouts. The glass plate lands on the floor upside-down.
Girlfriend: *With mock sadness* “Oh, no! It was too hot.”
The pies have been cooling for several hours by this point and are not hot at all. I’ve had enough, but I’m not going to yell.
Me: “That’s why grownups touch hot plates and children wait their turn. Go get—”
Girlfriend: “I’m not a child!”
Me: “Go get some towels to clean up.”
Girlfriend: “Kiss my a**, you ugly whore.”
Friend: “Hey! Absolutely not! You can go call your mom and have her pick you up.”
Girlfriend: “F*** you, too! This b**** is—”
Son: “Shut up!”
Girlfriend: “What?”
Son: “Go home.”
[Girlfriend] leaves the table and is picked up a few minutes later. Her mother is apologetic. It sounds like [Girlfriend] is a terror at home, too. As they leave, [Girlfriend] looks out the car window and waves, tears streaming down her face. [Son] turns away and walks back inside. We can hear (Girlfriend) screaming down the block.
Son: “When are girls less crazy?”
Me: “Ohhhh… probably a ten-year minimum.”
Son: “Oh, my God!”
