TheBanyanTree: My in-laws amuse me

[NancyIee at aol.com]

Monique,
 
Methinks if I lived in Alaska, I'd escape whenever I could, too. The  
Summers are absolutely gorgeous there, but I think it came on July 3rd, and now  
it's getting cool again.
 
The inlaws sound a rousing and fun bunch, never a dull moment, and isn't it 
 wonderful they can travel? Hawaii is the perfect place, and so nicely far  
away.
 
Happy Birthday to the pouty, sulking 14 year old. He sounds wonderfully  
normal.  Don't you love the teen years?
 
Happy marriage and adulthood to the twenty-one year old.  My advice to  
her: leave the teens, Hun, pretend you love your new grown-up and free years,  
and try to make it without your allowance and free vacations.  You wanted  
so much to be free of parental rules and interference, and now you are.   
Congratulations.
 
signed, NancyLee who survived four teenagers and been there, done  that.
 
NancyLee
 
 
 
 
In a message dated 8/9/2011 2:26:51 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time,  
monique.colver at gmail.com writes:

My  in-laws are in Hawaii at the moment. They do this once or twice a  year,
usually sneaking away without telling anyone because they don't want  their
daughter to know they went. It's to spare her feelings, they say,  though
it's really so she won't demand they take her and her husband along.  She's
entitled that way. She married four years ago, at 17, but still  thinks it's
her parents' responsibility to provide her transportation,  restaurant 
meals,
vacations, clothing, and whatever else her little heart  desires.

They sneak away, but we usually catch them at it, this time  because Andrew
wanted to wish his younger brother happy birthday. He just  turned 14. When
no one answered at home, he tried their cell phones, and  there they were,
the three of them, in Hawaii.

The brother is  refusing to go to the beach and is being a 14 year old --
recalcitrant,  grumpy, and annoyed at his parents for being . . . well,
them.

We  told them to enjoy the rest of their trip, which is just another two
days.  My mother-in-law was very sad because they could go for only a week
this  time. A week really isn't enough time, after all, is it? She would
prefer a  month. Every six months. She really needed this vacation, she 
said,
because  she's so tired of . . . social obligations. She hates social
obligations,  and she's surrounded by them. Lunch with her friends. Parties
with her  friends. Her life is one never-ending social obligation and 
without
her  vacations she'd go stark raving mad.

An argument could be made she's  already reached that point.

An hour after talking to them they called  back. They were waiting for a 
seat
at the Cheesecake Factory and wanted to  know what we recommended. They've
been to the Cheesecake Factory. Not in  Alaska, of course, which is where
they live, but every time they escape  Alaska, which is fairly often. 
Several
months ago, in Denver, they went to  one. But they needed help deciphering
the menu. It's so big, you see, with  so many choices.

And they'd been drinking.

While Dad kept asking  questions Mom could be heard in the background,
saying, "Ask Andrew what I  like," as if Andrew has cheat sheets of his
mother's favorite foods.  Several times Dad handed the phone to Mom, and 
then
the conversation went  like this: "Andrew, I can't hear you!" with Andrew
responding louder and  louder until at last, in frustration, Honey the 
wonder
dog stomped out of  the room and went upstairs. Then Dad got the phone back
and asked Andrew  what he recommended. Again. And if the steaks were good.
Have you ever seen  a Cheesecake Factory menu? It's not exactly short, and
Dad wanted to cover  most of it.

She never did hear Andrew. At last he told them to have  fun, and they 
signed
off.

Fifteen minutes later the phone rang  again. They'd been seated and had a
menu in their hot little hands, and  wanted to know what they should have 
for
an appetizer.

It's as if  these well-traveled people have never sat themselves down in a
restaurant  and ordered off a menu before. Andrew made suggestions which 
were
then  swept aside with, "We had that last time," or, "I think we had  that
before," and then they would ask about something else on the menu.  Again,
Mom couldn't hear, so all information was relayed through Dad.  Merits of
various items were discussed, some in length, and then the main  courses 
were
discussed. "Is the rib eye good?" Dad would ask, and Andrew  would say, "I
always like a good rib eye," having no particular knowledge  of the
Cheesecake Factory's rib eye. "How about filet?"

"Filet's  good," Andrew would say, and then his Mom would say, yelling from
the  background, "Is the Louisiana Chicken Pasta spicy?"

"Yes, it sort of  is."

"What about the chicken . . . "

Whatever. Five or ten pasta  dishes were discussed. Apparently they're under
the impression that we're  experts, that we eat all our meals at the
Cheesecake Factory and have  in-depth knowledge of every item.

Finally Andrew said, "It's all  good."

They signed off again, apparently ready to make a few decisions  on their
own.

So now we sit here and think of going to bed. We're  taking the phone 
though,
because they haven't gotten to dessert yet, and  there's sure to be some
discussion required of the merits of various  cheesecakes.

They are amusing. I'm thinking they should drink more  often.







Nance