I have to pay homage to the MIL. It was her birthday. Actually she chose xmas as her birthday becos they had lost records of when she was born. If I were her, I wouldn't. One less occasion to celebrate, one less gift to receive and everyone forgets about her on xmas. Because of her, all my christmas-es have been miserable for the past decade. It was a relief that nothing eventful happened. In fact, afterwards, I told D that meeting her was like waiting for a time bomb to explode and he told me he was about to say that.
Her choice of dinner conversation was who and who got cancer and spent $xxxxxxx amount on treatment etc. Who and who was sick and where he got medical help. There were moments I thought she was gonna veer towards how unfilial we were compared to so-and-so's son and kick up a ruckus like last june when we last met. That was the day before my operation and she was unhappy that we didn't tell her about it. She started her litany about how I never regarded her as my MIL and threw me names. It got so bad I almost walked out on her. I never spoke with her since then.
Dinner lasted an eternity as I tried not to let my eyes glaze over. I nodded and agreed on everything she said, and obligatorily nibbled on a few choice pieces of food even though I was stuffed, all these to keep her happy. After that we had to solve her DVD player woes at her place. I warmed her sofa for 15min as I felt my brains crunching to a halt listening to her bleat on about how her DVD from Israel has "a choice of NINE LANGUAGES". I mean if you pay USD40 for a measly DVD, I would expect it to have like a thousand languages. Thankfully we managed to solve the problem and make a hasty escape. I cheerfully announced, "Goodbye, mother" and trotted off as quickly as my 4-inch heels could carry me.
I suppose I wouldn't win an prizes for daughter-in-law of the year awards. I think perhaps she would raise both hands in animated agreement. But well, she's not perfect either.
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