Archives For Crazy Sister In Law

dog at table

My ex sister-in-law hated me on sight.

It wasn’t because she felt no one was good enough for her brother. She just hates everyone. She’s an equal-opportunity hater.

The first time I met her, I was dating my Ex and was invited to spend Thanksgiving at her house.

Thanksgiving 1999. I walked in and Bang! CHAOS.

She was flapping around the tiny kitchen, which smelled like a skunk fucking a burning tire. She was wild-eyed; furiously puffing on a Marlboro Red and screeching at her husband and two-teenage daughters. Her two dogs were barking incessantly. Nothing was even close to ready. Pots and pans were bubbling and threatening to boil over on the stove.

I enjoy cooking and I’m the kind of guest who walks in, rolls up her sleeves, and pitches right in.

“Can I help you in here?” I offered.

“NO!” she barked at me in her gravely, man-sounding smoker’s voice. You know, like frog bones in a blender?

“You don’t just THROW a meal like this together,” she snapped at me, waving her arms in a grand sweeping gesture over her kitchen. It was jam-packed full of junk normal people throw out. Hoarders, The Thanksgiving Edition.

She then proceeded to whip potatoes like they stole something from her. She set the bowl of mashed potatoes on the table WHERE IT SAT FOR THE NEXT THREE HOURS UNTIL WE ATE. At that point, it had one of those nice “protective coatings” on top, and tasted like hobo urine.

My ex’s sister, aka Satan’s daughter is not only the Queen of Mean, she’s manipulative, jealous, castrating, hypochondriacal, and LOUD.

I haven’t heard her husband talk in over 15 years. Her crazy has muzzled him to where he communicates in hand gestures.

She’s obsessive about her dogs. She refers to them as her “non biological” children, and demands that they be treated as such. She expects Little Dude to refer to them as “his cousins.” YES, SHE DOES.

She has closets full of clothes for them. They go to temple wearing Yarmulkes. As soon as one yappy, bitter little dog dies, she replaces it with another. She has a seemingly endless supply of tiny mentally ill dogs who NEVER STOP BARKING NOT EVER NEVER.

She is obsessed with Elvis Presley and her latest non biological child is named “Miss Elvis Presley.” It’s a girl dog, dressed in little pinafores, that she carries around town and refers to as “Miss Elvis Presley.” She doesn’t like you to shorten the name, either. When you refer to the dog, you have to say, “excuse me, but Miss Elvis Presley just took a shit on my living room rug.”

She will not go anywhere without them.

Well, she doesn’t go anywhere. She is chronically ill with some mysterious ailment that prevents her from leaving the house ever, unless Macy’s is having a one day sale. She has missed every important family occasion, including (I SWEAR TO GOD) her own daughter’s wedding. An enigmatic bowel affliction leaves her unable to get off the toilet.

Two years ago, when I was still married, we had Thanksgiving at my house. I love to host holidays. and my Ex  sister-in-law’s turkey tastes like sanitary napkins. She’d pick at my food and pretend not to like a thing I cooked. Then she’d pack enough leftovers to save a starving Ubangi village and stuff her face with them the next day. According to her husband, who told me in sign language, she licks her fingers and murmurs to herself the entire time she’s eating them.

That particular year, her beloved dog was dying. He was gravely ill with only days to live. She lives about 20 minutes from us, but refused to come to my house unless she could bring the sick dog.

I understood. I wouldn’t want my dog to die alone, either.

However once at my house she insisted that he join us, and laid him on a pillow under the dining room table. His eyes were jaundiced; his breathing ragged and irregular. He bleated like  Chewbecca having an aneurism.

I prayed to God that he would live, at least through the meal. “Please God, I beg of you, do not let this dog die under my Thanksgiving table in front of my 10-year-old. He will never get over it.”

We did our best to enjoy the meal, but it’s hard to really dig in and celebrate heartily when you’re housing an outtake from Pet Semetary. Thankfully, her doggie lived through the meal and the next day, he went to the Great Kennel in the Sky.

The last time we all got together for a family occasion was about a year ago. My two nephews, (well, technically the Ex’s nephews) were now grown and able to drink legally. These are the other sister’s kids, and they have always known their aunt was kamikaze crazy.

But now, we were able to create a drinking game around it. Yippee! Every time my ex sister-in-law said something bizarre, offensive, ridiculous – we had to take a drink of wine.

We. Got. Schmammered.

And had to go back to the liquor store THREE TIMES to buy more alcohol.

This year, I may host an open house for Thanksgiving. You’re all invited, provided you leave any dying pets at home.

Do you have a crazy in law? What’s the weirdest Thanksgiving you ever had?
Will you bring lots of dessert to my house for the holidays?
Talk to me. I’m listening. 

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