"You Stink"

A few months ago Mother started to smell something coming out of Evil Shorty's room. I didn't smell it until a few days later. Phew! It smelled like something had died in her room. Mother had been yelling at Shorty for days, "Something smells in your room." As usual Shorty just ignored her. When I finally smelled the foul odor, I nicely said to Evil Shorty, "Shorty, something smells bad in your room." Shorty just nodded at me and slithered back into her room. A few hours later, I was on my computer and Evil Shorty started slowly shuffling my way. I glanced up and thought, "Oh shit." Shorty gave me her evil stare and ordered me to come into her room and show her what was stinking. Shorty's room is a mess. It's filled with plastic bags and useless magazine articles she's cut out her whole life. Most of the articles are about improving your relationships. She makes copies of them to give to other people who she thinks need help with their personalities. I looked around Evil Shorty's room and through some bags. Nothing. Evil Shorty pointed her crooked finger at me and growled, "You can't find nothin' huh? Maybe it's you. You stink. You're probably smelling yourself." I kept my composure and said, "Well Mother smells it too." Shorty yelled back at me, "Well then your mother stinks too." My poor husband overheard Shorty's diatribe, walked into her room, and searched through all her crap until he found some old meat buried in one of her plastic bags. Shorty looked up at him and said, "I don't smell anything." My husband pushed the bag close to her long, jetting nose and said, "Smell it now?" Shorty closed her door after Kevin threw away the decomposing meat. She didn't come out of her room all night. We had peace for a while after that incident.

After Christmas

One of Mother's dogs is sick. Poor little thing has had diarrhea since Christmas. Evil Shorty probably fed her a big Christmas dinner. Mother is always catching Shorty feeding the dogs. We have asked her several times not to feed the dogs, but of course she does not respect anyone else's boundaries. At least once a day I hear Mother yell, "Are you feeding those dogs?" If she's caught red handed, she always replies, "I was just giving them a little bit." Mother always yells back, "I told you don't feed those dogs." Shorty replies, "But it never hurt my dogs when I was growing up." Mother says, "Those were mutts. They could handle it." All three of our little dogs are expensive pure breeds. They have sensitive stomachs. They are also extremely fat from Evil Shorty feeding them. They wobble around the house and can barely go up and down the stairs. One fell down the stairs yesterday. Blump, blump, blump. When Shorty was off in Vegas with her son for a few months, they all lost weight. Now that Evil Shorty is back, they're all fat again and they have the worst gas ever. But of course, Shorty will not stop feeding the dogs. She's sneaky about it at the dinner table. Evil Shorty chews her food, pretends to wipe her mouth on a napkin, and instead spits the chewed food into the napkin. Then she stealthy drops the chewed food from the napkin onto the floor.

Christmas Eve

Today Mother found out about this blog.  I'm in deep shit.  My youngest daughter was reading it online this morning and laughing out loud while repeating some of the content.  Mother is angry.  She is now trying to blackmail me into deleting it.  She threatened to take all the jewelry she bought me.  She buys expensive jewelry.  Fortunately I'm not someone who values expensive jewelry.  

It's been a very nice Christmas Eve.  We opened our presents while listening to holiday music, and Mother was yelling at Shorty because she didn't have her hearing aids on.   

Poor Husband

It's really tough for my husband to live with Mother and Evil Shorty.  According to Mother, Kevin is a jerk.  He's not really a jerk.  He's an honest guy, and we're happily married most of the time.  My father used to say before he died that it didn't matter who I married.  Father said that even if I married the president, Mother would argue he didn't win by enough votes. 

Living with Mother and Evil Shorty is difficult because of the daily stressors.  Mother constantly looks for things about my husband to get angry about.  For example, "He looked at my funny today," or "He didn't offer to help me carry up the groceries."  Evil Shorty is a different kind irritation.  Since she doesn't wear her hearing aid, it's impossible to talk with her.  She constantly asks questions, but can't hear the answers.  I just point to my ears and shrug my shoulders when Shorty asks me questions without her hearing aids on.  Then Evil Shorty says, "okay, okay, I'll put my hearing aids on."  Mother, on the other hand, is always yelling at Shorty.  I tell Mother not to talk with Shorty unless she has her hearing aids on, but Mother doesn't listen.  Even at this very moment Mother is yelling at Shorty because she doesn't have her hearing aids on.  My husband just looked at me and shook his head. 

Every night as my husband and I are going to sleep, Evil Shorty slithers into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator door.  After three minutes or so, the alarm starts going off.  "Beep. Beep. Beep."  It's really annoying.  Shorty eats like a horse.  She makes herself sandwiches every night about three hours after dinner.  She doesn't turn the kitchen light on.  Instead, she leaves the door to the refrigerator open.  Mother yells at her all the time about this behavior, but of course if you ask Shorty to not do something, she goes out of her way to do it all the time.  

Every couple days, Shorty leaves the water running in one of the bathrooms or the kitchen.  I hear water running and I go into the kitchen or walk into the bathroom and the water is running, but there is no one is sight.  Evil Shorty has struck again.  Yes, I have outrageous utility bills, and I expect some environmental group to show up at my house one day.  But what can I do?  If I ask Shorty to stop leaving the water running or close the refrigerator door, she'll just do it all the more.  Irritating people gives Shorty some sense of control and fulfils her evil monster.  

My husband is a pretty good guy to tolerate all this abuse.  I think any other man would have left me two years ago right after Mother and Evil Shorty moved in.      

 

Dog dishes still on the floor

When Mother had a fit yesterday about the dog dishes on the floor, I told her she should have never told Evil Shorty not to put them there.  But alas, Mother never listens to me.  I was never heard as a child either, but I'll save this banter for my psychiatrist.  Anyway, this morning when Mother and I were in the kitchen having our morning coffee, I saw the dog dishes on the floor.  I let a slight giggle escape and said, "Mother.  Look."  Mother saw the dog dishes on the floor, and her eyes bulged.  I said, "I told you not to tell Shorty to stop putting the dog dishes on floor.  Now she's going to go out of her way to do it all the time."  Mother groaned, "Pick up those damn dishes."  Having dog dishes on the floor is a real crisis situation around here.  

Dog dishes on the floor?

Mother gets angry about the silliest things.  When she's frustrated it's really obvious.  She purses her lips, her face turns red, and her eyes bulge.  When Mother came home from church this morning, she noticed the dogs' dishes were on the floor next to their water dish.  "Who put the dog dishes on the floor?" 

Turns out evil Shorty had washed the dog dishes and put them on floor.  Mother yelled, "Damn it.  I don't want the dog dishes on the floor."  Shorty, who was in the kitchen and didn't have her hearing aid on as usual yelled, "What? What? I always wash the dog dishes."  Mother yelled back, "I don't care if you wash the dishes.  Just don't put them on the floor." 

Mother was frustrated all day about the dog dishes.  Later, when we went out to dinner, and I had one too many drinks, I started laughing about the dog dish problem.  Mother yelled at me, "Damn it!  I don't want clean dog dishes on the floor.  

Mother gets angry about the craziest things.  Things that nobody in his or her right mind would get angry about.  Things that are real problems, have no effect on Mother.   

Got Shorty?

The Evil Shorty

This is my Loving Mother who is always frustrated with her mother, Shorty. 

My mother, grandmother, daughter, and I all live in the same house with my husband--poor guy.  We also have three dogs, one cat, and a tank of angel fish.  It's been two years of hell.  My mother went through all her money and could not afford her house payment anymore.  It seemed best that she sell her house in Vegas and use her equity to help me purchase a new house where we all could live.  Basically, I sold my soul to the devil and with my mother's help bought a big house my husband and I cannot afford.  

Every day is filled with all kinds of aggravation.  Mostly, my 93, going on 94, year old grandmother, Shorty, is the main topic around here.  She's in good health and mentally lucid, but she has an evil side.  You may think by looking at her picture, she is sweet enough.  But, under that short, wrinkled, crooked body lies the essence of evil.  Under the guise of being a deaf, forgetful, senile old lady, she shuffles around the house every day in her slippers holding her coffee cup looking for her next victim.

My mother is the easiest target.  It doesn't take much to get her aggravated.  Every time Mother is watching a movie, Shorty slithers out of her room and turns on the water in the sink, so Mother can't hear the television.  Shorty is no dummy.  She stealthy waits until just before the end of the movie to make all kinds of noise.  Mother throws her hands up in disgust.  Her eyes bulge and she yells at Shorty, "Why do you always make so much noise at the end of the movies I'm watching?"  Shorty, who never wears her hearing aid always replies, "What?  What?... I don't have my hearing aid on."  Mother yells, "Well go put your damn hearing aid on."  Shorty says, "Okay, okay" and she she leaves; however, she never puts her hearing aid on.  Instead, in a few minutes, she returns to irritate Mother in some other way saying something like, "Barbara, I need to talk to you."  Mother purses her lips, rolls her tired, bulbous eyes and yells, "Can't it wait for the end of this movie?"  Shorty says again, "I need to talk to you about my bank statement."  Shorty thinks we're stealing her money, so she spends a lot of time with a magnifying glass about the size of her face going over every inch of her bank statements each month.  

I suspect Shorty can hear as well as anyone.  Once when I was giving Mother a lecture about being on the phone too much, Shorty slithered out of her room without her hearing aids on and said, "Ya know, Cathy, you're right.  Mother is on the phone all the time.  I can never talk to her either."

But alas, Shorty still talks to Mother without her hearing aid and feigns that she can't hear.  Shorty pretends not to hear, so she can irritate Mother and listen to her yell.  I suspect Shorty pretends not to hear, so she can be an omniscient presence in our home listening to everyone and planning her next attack.  She's like a lioness sneaking up on its prey.  She takes her time.  She sneaks up and BAM!  As she points her crooked finger, "I knew you'd never amount to anything.  You're fat.  Lazy.  Your feet are ugly." 

One of Shorty's favorite ways to irritate people is throwing food from her nasty toothless mouth after she gums it onto the floor for the dogs.  This behavior drives everyone crazy.  It's sickening to watch while we're eating dinner.  Usually I tell Mother to get Shorty under control when she's spitting out food on the floor.  Mother walks over to Shorty, puts her hands on her hips and threatens to send her to Mike's if she doesn't stop feeding the dogs.  Mike is Shorty's son who lives on The Strip in Vegas.  Shorty hates staying with Mike, so Mother always uses the you're going to live with Mike scenario as a threat she never intends to carry out.  

I recently got rid of Shorty for three months.  I told Mother that Shorty had to go to Mike's so I could study for an exam I had to take for a master's degree.  I knew I could not get any studying done with Shorty lurking around the house making noises with appliances, insulting everyone, and provoking Mother.  It was the most peaceful three months of our lives.  Shorty cried almost every day at Mike's.  "I want to go home."  No, I didn't feel bad about her crying.  Mother did.  As much as Shorty aggravates the heck out of everyone, Mother doesn't want to send her to Mike's permanently.  "But she's my mother!" Mother cries in defense of Shorty.  So we put up with Shorty because she's biologically responsible for our existence.     

I wish I could send Shorty to Mike's permanently.  Don't get me wrong.  I wouldn't mind taking care of the old bag if she were just a sweet old lady.  If she were a loving grandmother, I wouldn't mind the extra work.  It doesn't bother me to feed her, make coffee for her, even clean her vomit from her periodic barf attacks.  It's just so obvious that Shorty goes out of her way to be mean to her family.  Her overt vicious behavior makes living in the house with her like living in a land field.  We never know when the next attack is coming.  There's always an explosion sooner or later.  

Shorty has always been a vicious bitch.  When I was a child she told me I'd never amount to anything.  She said I was fat and just like my mother.  She said I was stupid.  She told my brother that he was the reason Mother was fat.  Okay, so what if she were right?  Saying things like that to children is just mean.