The Beast and my brother have departed after an eight day visit. (I never thought I would say those words).
It was an eight day visit that started with a bang as I spotted The Beast in baggage claim and cheerfully strolled over to her, “You look great!” I exclaimed, lying of course, but making an effort to be cordial, “You’ve lost so much weight!” “I have,” she replied, nose snarled in true Beast fashion, “but what’s wrong with you? I’ve never seen you at this weight. Are you okay? Are you sick? When’s the last time you saw the doctor?”
Um, yeah, I love you too mom. It was about there that I peeled the phony smile off my face and succumbed to what I was in for: eight days of torment.
That night was disastrous. She had apparently started drinking that morning on the plane and by the time we sat down for dinner and finished our fourth bottle of wine she was a belligerent, raging drunk. Squishing her pasta in her hands at the dinner table, breaking wine glasses, making uncalled for and hostile remarks towards Rey. When we sat down to watch The Simpsons Movie she was uncontainable. Screaming profanities, kicking her feet and shaking her head, parroting the movie lines. It was like we were in a bad movie, instead of watching one, (only The Simpsons wasn’t a bad movie, it was actually pretty awesome).
And so the rest of the visit went. She forced me to go shopping on the busiest shopping day of the year, where she proceeded to talk to any willing individual in the stores. She let my cat outside on Christmas Eve who subsequently went missing for the next four hours. She shook her head and scoffed every time I dared to eat. She was restless and repeatedly asked what we were going to do next.
But all that being said, and although I’ve developed an eating disorder and feel like I’ve been beat with a baseball bat, the visit wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Now, that being said, you can bet your ass there won’t be another visit for a very long time.