Friday, August 28, 2015

Indentured Servitude

Yesterday was unbearable.

My younger granddaughter, Chatty Cathy, was talking about getting back on her normal sleep cycle now that school is back in session.  She compared her summer to my everyday life.  "Nana, I sleep all day because there's nothing to do.  Not to offend you, but that must be how you feel every day with no purpose in life and no reason to get out of bed."

Yep.  That sums it up.

Unless you consider what I am required to accomplish each day:  feeding the family.

My oldest granddaughter, The Princess, came home a short time later in a grumpy mood.  I asked about her day and got a grunt.  Okay, I won't ask.  She did muster the strength to ask me what we were having for dinner.  "You probably won't like the answer", I said.  "We're having Chef's Salad."

"Oh, goodie", she smarmed.  (I don't know if that qualifies as a word, but it's the only way to describe the way she spoke to me.)

"You can blame your grandfather", I replied.  "It was his idea".

"I'll just eat the eggs", was her solution.

"I had no plans to cook eggs", I said, "and even if I did, you can't just eat eggs".

Anyway, from there it devolved into an argument about how a salad can't be a Chef's salad without egg, how I don't care what her definition of a Chef's salad is, how I'm sick of hearing complaints EVERY SINGLE NIGHT from one person or another, and that the cook is the only person who never gets her preferences for dinner.  I think at some point I yelled in frustration, she made a comment that implied I was crazy for going off, I said something about how seemingly small things take a toll after 37 years of dealing with them, she chuckled at the crazy lady and made a hateful comment, and I went to find the wine.

Oh, and my daughter, who gave birth to these children, received a gift in my mail from Chatty Cathy's grandmother (as a reward for giving birth, I suppose, since my husband and I are doing everything else).  It isn't the first "token of appreciation" she's received at my house, either.  I guess things are sent here to stick it to me for having the gall to financially, physically, and emotionally support her precious granddaughter at the expense of my golden years and my mental health.

Just this past weekend, my husband and I took the family out to dinner to celebrate The Princess's birthday.  Chatty Cathy asked me to take a photo with her (nothing warms an old lady's heart like having her granddaughter want to take a photo with her, even when the old lady hates having her picture taken).  She then posted the picture on social media.  Probably before we even finished dinner, Granny had reposted the photo after cropping me out!!!

Take your own photos, lady.  Oh, I guess that's hard when you only ask to see your granddaughter twice a year.  Then whine on Facebook about how you miss her so much it hurts your heart, and allow others to comment without correction that it's a shame she isn't allowed to spend more time with her.  (I've written about this before.)

Long story even longer, I told my husband this morning that I needed to resign my position.  I simply can't take it any more.

"Too bad that's not an option", was all he could say.

It's official.  I'm an indentured servant.  And I'm not sure what I got out of the deal.  Unless you count insanity.

No comments:

Post a Comment