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.