My mother drives me around the bend. It's not just her job, it's her career. Her calling, as it were. In her own defense she usually offers up, "I just want everybody to be happy!" If that were true she would have stabbed dad in the chest instead of the arm that time he was strangling her. But hindsight is 20-20, so I won't belabor that detail.
So, the latest tizzy she's in is over my nephew's impending nuptials. A rare nonshotgun wedding for our family. Just as Dante ascribed levels to hell, so do weddings provide a glimpse into the eternal suffering locked therein. And right now, my mother is the ringleader. No, I'm not comparing her to satan, although in a way I am. I mean, she's not that bad, she's just got herself all worked up, and she's got a telephone, so, you know, we've ALL got to hear about it. The wedding is six weeks off, and mom wants to coordinate who is giving what gift. Well, I am fundamentally against being forced to spend BIG $$$$$ on gifts. If I want to do it it's one thing, but to have someone tell me what I have to spend? It gets my dander up. I'm refusing to commit to a dollar amount, and if mom keeps this up, I'm going to stuff twenty bucks in an envelope with a homemade card. Is that petty of me? Sure it is, but I've done worse and I have no problem sleeping at night. In fact, MK marvels how I can have a screaming match with my sister-in-law and then take a nap. It's because I sleep the sleep of the damned, or the unfettered. I imagine my sleep to be a lot like the sleep that limbo babies enjoy.
Anyway, I've calmed down now so I guess I better call my mom back and apologize.