tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56718013859439310022024-02-07T11:29:17.335-08:00Four Generations in One HouseReal life stories from my experiences about having my daughter, mother, and evil grandmother living in my house.Gwenithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584518922148450524noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5671801385943931002.post-70224642657885449002009-06-06T21:51:00.001-07:002009-06-06T22:02:21.772-07:00SHE'S GONEEvil Shorty left this morning!!! I'm so damn happy, I can't think straight. Evil Shorty kept trying to prolong her leaving, but I put my foot down. After all, she insulted me and Mother. Then she said that she was moving in with Mike. Okay, Evil Shorty, Adios hija de puta. <br /><br />Kevin and I went out to dinner last night to celebrate. We drank margaritas and wrote up a plan just in case Evil Shorty might break down and cry and beg to stay. Fortunately, we didn't need to implement it. When I woke up this morning, the evil cloud that had been hovering over our house for over two years was gone. Happy days are here again. The sun is shinning. What a wonderful day! Life is worth living.<br /><br />Mother doesn't seem too happy about it. She's been looking like a deer in headlights. She finally said, "Are you going to get rid of me too?"<br />I said, "If you start verbally attacking people and don't respect boundaries, heck yeah."Gwenithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584518922148450524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5671801385943931002.post-732893851982497932009-06-02T23:19:00.000-07:002009-06-03T00:18:52.270-07:00Setting Boundaries with Four Generations in One HouseWell, it's been over two years since Mother and Evil Shorty have lived with me in my expensive house I can't afford. Right now I work four part time jobs. My husband has two full time jobs. We don't mind working a lot. I don't have a problem being broke all the time. I'm grateful for all my jobs, especially because jobs are so hard to come by these days. All my jobs are virtually stress free, and I'm happier than hell to get out of my house each day and go to work. <br /><br />I realized that living in a house for over two years with four generations of women and no boundaries is like trying to make my way through a land field each day without setting off any explosions. Don't step here. Don't push this button over there. Well, it's too late. Explosions are going off everywhere, and I've reverted back to old behaviors to try and control a situation that is not controllable. <br /><br />Evil Shorty has got to go. I know most people would think that it's horrible to send an old, 94 year old woman to stay with her gambler son in his hell-hole in Vegas. However, after two years of verbal abuse, constant yelling, water running endlessly down drains, refrigerators doors being left open for light, feeding dogs fast food and chocolate cake, cleaning an old lady's vomit and nasty toilet, refusal to wear hearing aids, cleaning spilled coffee on floors and baseboards, things being stolen from my bedroom, and other acts of random violence, I think I've put in my time for the official co-dependent dumb bitch of the year award. <br /><br />Evil Shorty has got to go. Not in one month, not in two months, I told her and Mother today she's got to pack and be out in two weeks. Evil Shorty asked me if she could come back in six months. I told her to think about her behavior and her lack of appreciating what people do for her. I told her she never thanks Mother for taking her to the doctor, picking up her prescriptions, cooking her meals, making her gourmet coffee every day, running to the store for half n' half every other day, doing her laundry, and paying for the dogs to have stomach medicine from the vet every couple months because she refuses to stop feeding the poor, chubby, wobbly dogs. Evil Shorty just snarled at me and said, "You've changed." <br />"That's right Evil Shorty and you're a done deal." After all, she's the one who said she was going to do me a favor and move out. "Great, Evil Shorty, move out."<br /><br />I've always been a believer that in our house our common welfare comes first. For the past two years, I've forgotten that concept. If someone cannot respect boundaries and upsets everyone else in the house, well then it's time for a little change. The dog days of Evil Shorty are coming to an end real soon. The next two weeks are going to be filled with whining and crying and begging and complaining, but oh well. It's not like I'm not used to torture after two years of hell.Gwenithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584518922148450524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5671801385943931002.post-30529775143292585952009-06-01T17:32:00.000-07:002009-06-01T18:27:16.348-07:00Running Water and Evil ShortyNow that the water company is going to raise water rates in July, my husband and I are making plans to conserve water. When Mother and Evil Shorty were not looking, we installed water savers on all the faucets in the house. <br /><br />Evil Shorty lets the water run and run. Many times I walk by a bathroom and the water is running. No one is around. Evil Shorty has been at it again. I turn the water off. Our monthly water bill averages $70 a month, which is ridiculous. Before Mother and Evil Shorty moved in, the water bill was $40 a month. Kevin and I have been reminding everyone, including Evil Shorty, that there is a water crisis in California and the rates are going up. Kevin put signs up in the kitchen, bathroom, and laundry area that say, "Please do your share and conserve water."<br /><br />Evil Shorty does not get it. Her attitude with everything is, "Screw you guys. I'm just going to do what I want." <br /><br />So, Kevin has been telling Shorty constantly to turn off the water. He points to the faucet and turns it off. Then he points to the conserve water sign. Evil Shorty says, "Oh yeah, okay. okay." <br /><br />Yesterday, while Kevin was at work. Evil Shorty was at it again with the water in the kitchen. Like I've done so many times before, I go into the kitchen and turn the water off. I tell Evil Shorty there is a drought and we need to save water. Because she's not wearing her hearing aids and pretends not to hear, she says, "what? WHAT?" I go under the sink, and turn off the water. <br /><br />Five minutes later I hear the water in the bathroom sink running. Okay, so she's in the bathroom running the water. The water goes off. Two minutes later the water is running again. It stops. It starts again. It stops. It starts. After thirty minutes of this, I write Evil Shorty a note. "Stop using the water so much. We have to conserve it. There is a drought in California."<br /><br />Evil Shorty looks up at me and says in her smart-ass tone, "Well I'm just going to do you a favor and move out. I'm going to move in with Mike." Mike is Evil Shorty's gambler son who lives in a Vegas hell hole near the Strip. Whenever Shorty goes to Vegas, her money dwindles by hundreds of dollars and that's just for a short trip. <br /><br />I can't believe my luck. I say to Evil Shorty, "Go. Move out." I go to my room. The next thing I know Evil Shorty is beating on my door yelling my name. <br /><br />I open the door. <br />Shorty snarls at me, "You've changed. You used to be nice. Don't you remember everything I've done for you?"<br />I tell Shorty the only thing she has done for me is tell me I would never amount to anything, called me fat, and said I was just like my mother. I close my bedroom door and lock it. <br /><br />Evil Shorty starts beating on the door again. I'm not letting her in. She starts to do her fake vomiting and coughing. In her evil voice she says, "There you've made me vomit. You can clean it up yourself."<br /><br />I open the door, see there's no vomit and I tear into the four foot evil bitch. For two years I've allowed her to verbally attack me, my mother, and my daughters. Now she's done wreaking havoc in my house. Evil Shorty doesn't get a word in probably for the first time in her evil life. I tell her she's done crossing boundaries in this house. No more feeding the dogs cheese, donuts, and McDonalds, no more telling my mother she's fat, ugly, worthless and a nothing. No more yelling at my kids, and she needs to pack up and get out.<br /><br />Evil Shorty says, "I'm so glad to be moving out." He he he (evil laugh)<br /><br />Mother, who has been sick, comes out of her room and says, "Let's go Mother. I'm taking you to Vegas."<br /><br />I can't believe my luck. I'm so happy. I go back to my room and listen for the sound of tires screeching away from my house, from my life. Thank God that crazy bitch is gone. I text my husband the good news. He's relieved to see her go. We don't even care about the rent she pays. It's not worth the $400 in utility bills and aggravation each month. <br /><br />Just as I'm feeling peaceful and happy, Mother returns with Evil Shorty. They were not even gone 30 minutes. <br /><br />Mother gives me her big puppy-eyed look. I say, "Mother, you've been bitching and complaining about your mother for two years. Now's the time to stand up to her. <br /><br />Mother sits down and tells Evil Shorty what an evil bitch she really is. Mother says she's tired of her feeding the dogs and making them fat. Evil Shorty denies it. Mother says she's tired of being called fat, an elephant, a nothing, a worthless piece of shit. Shorty denies it. The drama is relentless. I text my husband. "Come home now." <br /><br />When my husband comes home we all tell Evil Shorty how mean she is and how she does not respect anyone's boundaries. Evil Shorty tries to change the subject. We steer it back to the issues. <br /><br />Finally, in a last ditch response Evil Shorty admits she's a mean bitch because she cares so much about everyone. We tell her no more verbal abuse and no more feeding the dogs. Shorty says she's moving out. She's supposed to leave in two days. Great.<br /><br />An hour later, she's staying for a month to pack.<br />Two hours later, she's staying for two months because Mike is going on a trip.<br /><br />I tell Mother, "Enough, she needs to be out soon, not two months, not one month." I say, "She needs to be out in a week. She's Mike's problem now. You've been taking care of her for over ten years. She's out of here."<br /><br />Today my husband brought home boxes for her to pack. I dumped them on the floor in her room. <br /><br />She hasn't started packing yet.<br /><br />I asked Mother, "Has your mother been nice to you today."<br /><br />Mother looks up at me with her puppy-dog eyes, "She been real nice to me today. Real nice."Gwenithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584518922148450524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5671801385943931002.post-90372652055085213432009-05-30T14:49:00.000-07:002009-06-01T17:32:06.183-07:00Lost Hearing AidsEvil Shorty never likes to wear her hearing aids, so whenever she asks me something, I always shrug and point to my ears as if to say, Why talk to me when you can't hear me?" Usually Shorty will say, "okay, okay, I'll go put on my hearing aids." Most of the time, if I'm lucky, she forgets to come back to talk to me with her hearing aids on.<br /><br />Shorty's been complaining a lot to Mother about having to wear her hearing aids. I can hear Shorty telling Mother, "I'm too old to bother with hearing aids." <br /><br />Suddenly, Shorty cannot find her $5000 hearing aids. She can't remember where she put them. I still shrug at her when she wants something. I try to make a fast exit. I keep my doors to my bedroom closed. But Mother, well she's gotten into the habit of yelling at Shorty now just because the evil woman "lost her hearing aids." All day long the conversations go like this:<br /><br />Shorty asks Mother something and Mother answers.<br />Shorty says, "What? WHAT?"<br />Mother yells back something.<br />Shorty yells, "WHAT? WHAT?"<br />Mother yells, "HOW IN THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO TALK TO YOU?"<br /><br />This goes on all day long. I told Mother, "Please take her to get more hearing aids."<br />Mother said, "Okay, okay."<br />The day they're supposed to go get new hearing aids I hear Shorty say, "Barbara (that's Mother) I'm too old to get hearing aids. Who's going to want to listen to an old lady? I'm 95 years old. I don't want to get hearing aids. Why do I need them?"<br />Mother relents, "Okay, Mother."<br /><br />Ever since Shorty "lost" her hearing aids, it's been non-stop yelling around here. Mother cusses non-stop while Shorty yells, "WHAT? WHAT?"Gwenithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584518922148450524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5671801385943931002.post-3952273940209382352009-01-01T16:10:00.000-08:002009-01-01T16:11:35.981-08:00<script type="text/javascript"><!--<br />google_ad_client = "pub-6367500197988576";<br />/* 250x250, created 1/1/09 */<br />google_ad_slot = "3297140649";<br />google_ad_width = 250;<br />google_ad_height = 250;<br />//--><br /></script><br /><script type="text/javascript"<br />src="http://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/show_ads.js"><br /></script>Gwenithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584518922148450524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5671801385943931002.post-90166326543157909382008-12-31T15:48:00.000-08:002009-01-01T15:05:03.229-08:00"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.Gwenithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584518922148450524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5671801385943931002.post-71290051362263910102008-12-31T15:27:00.000-08:002008-12-31T15:41:31.542-08:00After ChristmasOne 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.Gwenithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584518922148450524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5671801385943931002.post-32011785119498948212008-12-24T22:13:00.000-08:002008-12-24T22:19:28.184-08:00Christmas EveToday 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. <div><br /></div><div>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. </div>Gwenithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584518922148450524noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5671801385943931002.post-83584295587195054942008-12-24T21:45:00.000-08:002008-12-24T22:11:17.376-08:00Poor HusbandIt'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. <div><br /></div><div>Living with Mother and Evil Shorty is difficult because of the daily <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">stressors</span>. 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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>My husband is a pretty good guy to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">tolerate</span> all this abuse. I think any other man would have left me two years ago right after Mother and Evil Shorty moved in. <br /></div><div><div><br /></div><div> </div></div>Gwenithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584518922148450524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5671801385943931002.post-26819600837687580192008-12-22T22:03:00.000-08:002008-12-22T22:10:18.565-08:00Dog dishes still on the floorWhen 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. Gwenithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584518922148450524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5671801385943931002.post-81987426980078455742008-12-21T23:39:00.000-08:002008-12-21T23:49:24.471-08:00Dog 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?" <div><br /></div><div>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." </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div>Gwenithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584518922148450524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5671801385943931002.post-25463736148259707522008-12-12T11:12:00.000-08:002008-12-31T16:20:49.178-08:00Got Shorty?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP_oJyqHN1MLdySijB-np2jtPvFjTiaabTCKnIXzw-zhYl_1r3YdHpq1rybtPjp-7PECAdoJggUheVbG-b1ZVUPcoyECbABS5OwKT45fJ3FgQXLmHTNB-5f6dhW31nOelxxb1dtvvlDMw/s1600-h/DSC03116.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP_oJyqHN1MLdySijB-np2jtPvFjTiaabTCKnIXzw-zhYl_1r3YdHpq1rybtPjp-7PECAdoJggUheVbG-b1ZVUPcoyECbABS5OwKT45fJ3FgQXLmHTNB-5f6dhW31nOelxxb1dtvvlDMw/s320/DSC03116.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280076520490256706" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The Evil Shorty</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><script type="text/javascript"><!--<br />google_ad_client = "pub-6367500197988576";<br />/* 728x90, created 12/22/08 */<br />google_ad_slot = "3790711652";<br />google_ad_width = 728;<br />google_ad_height = 90;<br />//--><br /></script><br /><script type="text/javascript"<br />src="http://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/show_ads.js"><br /></script><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRt80PvQ9Inyk1WTnegLhgsldGdizhBXiHdwqAB7C7pVSGrymmHGoO0K-gSvt1yQjNUQZt2RMWvtt536X_OhJcjySntkFoIJiXYBYBKdIJ7VSOk7dJeXH8D0NjMZ7ECAUYZiNguRSH8YQ/s1600-h/DSC03141.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRt80PvQ9Inyk1WTnegLhgsldGdizhBXiHdwqAB7C7pVSGrymmHGoO0K-gSvt1yQjNUQZt2RMWvtt536X_OhJcjySntkFoIJiXYBYBKdIJ7VSOk7dJeXH8D0NjMZ7ECAUYZiNguRSH8YQ/s320/DSC03141.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279431692383282226" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This is my Loving Mother who is always frustrated with her mother, Shorty. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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."</div><div><br /></div><div>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." </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> <br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Gwenithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03584518922148450524noreply@blogger.com0