Oh my fucking God. How can my life get any worse?
I've been away in Wales for work since Monday and then to my cousin’s farm in the middle of nowhere which has been pure bliss. I've been away from the pure hell of the Hag (cunt of a MIL) for a week in the run up to Xmas.
I'm just pulling into Manchester Piccadilly and my phone rings. It's Mr Monkey. He took the Hag to her podriatory appointment which was pure joy, they get back to her flat and both lifts are broken. The Hag lives on the 7th floor.
There are only a flight of stairs.
“She’s here”
“Christ”
“I can’t carry her up the stairs because of my back”
I nearly buy a train ticket back to Wales, but I've not seen my partner for seven days.
I come home in a cab laden with stuff, open the front door and she's screaming at him. For two hours she's been picking him apart. He's got good boundaries now, but its a deluge of word salad and abuse.
He tells her he's going back to her to her lair to pick up her medicines.
“What for? I can get them, I can climb the stairs, I can manage. I want to go back to my flat.”
Every single minute it's been about going home to her squalid flat.
Apparently, this was the theme of the afternoon before I got home.
More screaming - “get a taxi, it's dark, it's too far”
It's 5pm. It's 10 mins walk. Mr Monkey likes/NEEDS the walk.
I stupidly say “he’s fine to walk.”
Drumroll “you would say that because you've only ever cared about yourself”
I fucking lose it at that point. It's been 30 mins since I entered the house.
I scream “How dare you say that to me in our house”
Her ridiculous comeback is
“You’re an absolute villain, you are.”
What is this? Shakespeare?
“Mr Monkey, Mr monkey, did you hear how she talks to me?”
He pushes back “you don't speak to Monkey like that in our house. Our house is a happy one. Monkey is very caring person. Just be quiet if you have nothing nice to say”.
I go upstairs after hearing her slag us both off to Slave Son on the phone.
“He’s taking HER side like he always does”
Slave Son daren't push back so says nothing. He knows what her behaviour is like and NEVER calls it out. Over the last year, I've seen him as a stupid fucking twat who facilitates her behaviour.
He's an accessory.
More drama. I order a takeaway as if I cook I will be sprinkling in the arsenic.
We then have
“What time is it coming?”
Constantly.
We sit down to eat £70 of food, she is vile, moaning away. I blunt myself with wine and go to bed. I have a stupid row with MM and she comes out of her room (our room) as spectator hoping MM is packing my bags for me.
She wanted to sleep on the sofa with a bathroom upstairs when she can hardly manage the stairs even with MM helping the cunt. Huge drama about having our room.
No thank you.
Obviously.
I wake up to drama.
Most of the breakfast drama I've slept through.
Then we have the whispered conversation to Slave Son on the phone.
“I’m cold”
Deliberately to make MM look shit. The house is fucking roasting and she's wrapped in blankets to resemble a Roman emperor like Caligula.
MM is livid at having his name blackened.
I sort out a plan to get her back in her flat. Three bodies and her carcuss with a folding chair.
My mum helpfully offers to assist.
We present the plan, but ‘oddly enough’, she now doesn't want to leave the warm (fucking roasting now) home with constant cups of tea and food cooked for her. And more importantly people to shout at (Mr Monkey) and me to be spiteful to.
“You don't want me here. SHE doesn't want me here”
me: “that is very true”
“See, see!”
MM “all yesterday and today you've been insisting that you want to go home”
“It's not safe for me to go home. The Caretaker said so” she insisted that MM ring the poor man so he would confirm what she said. No, if she took it slowly up the stairs with support she could do it. She didn't want to hear that.
The Hag went out for lunch with her one and only friend who has the patience of a saint - former nun. And then for her Christmas haircut. At least someone washed her disgusting filthy hair.
Funny she's getting her hair done as she done numerous threats about not coming for the two hour lunch on Xmas Day with always immaculate mummy monkey.
MM “That’s your choice”
“You don't want me here”
“No, it's your choice”
Endless fucking shit.
She's currently seething on the sofa like the evil hag she is.
No sign of the part for the lift. MM is on the phone to the housing association and local councillors again right now. He's suggested I go to my mum’s, but there is NO fucking way I'm leaving my own home whilst the cunt is here. I've got tons of work to do and thank fuck I'm going out with friends for lunch tomorrow.
“Is your mum still coming?”
“Yes”
“Why? I'm staying here.”
I want my mum to come over as a reminder to her that there are nice older people in the universe and a threat that we can take her home.
I want the cunt dead.