LiLi, I don’t suppose you could threaten to sit in the doctor’s waiting room with a wailing infant until they can squeeze you in, stat? Hope it’s nothing serious and that it’s just Gnat being as stubborn as one would expect, given his genes.
Pie, sorry about the table… glad it was only the sloppy joe sauce that had to go (mostly because I don’t like sloppy joes, so their proper place in this world is the trash anyways).
So, more info about why sister got the boot. Sorry, it’s a long one.
The first thing she starts talking about when she walks in the door is whether or not I can book lunch on the 17th, since she and fiance are driving through town. Unfortunately, work is still very disorganized in terms of letting me know what I’ll be doing the next few days/weeks, so it’s really up in the air as to where I’ll be on the 17th and whether I’ll be able to take lunch. So I suggest dinner, but apparently this isn’t suitable - they’re leaving at the crack of dawn the next morning and need their sleep.
All well and good - work tends to get in the way sometimes. But apparently, this is the only time and the only day that I can meet future BIL - this is his only trip up to Canada to visit, and they’ll be moving to the US directly after their wedding in May.
But it’s okay, she says… I’ll be invited to a reception in Kingston when they come back from their wedding. :dubious:
Which is when it comes out that I’m not invited to the wedding. They’re eloping somewhere exotic, paying for two of her best friends to fly down (because they’re her “real” family), but blood relatives are not welcome. Clearly, I was a little offended and told her as much - quite calmly, might I add.
In response, she threw a hissy fit about my “selfish opinions on Her Day”, and how I had no right to tell her how to run Her Wedding.
She then decided that she didn’t want to join us for my 30th birthday dinner, which we’d planned well in advance, and instead chose to spend those 2 hrs sulking on the couch. This, BTW, is the third time in a row this year that she has ruined a family night out with these sorts of tantrums.
After another 20 minutes of the silent treatment once we got home, I told her she could either act like a civilised adult and acknowledge those in the room (including The Boy, who thankfully wasn’t home for the initial blow-up), or she could get the hell out. It’s my goddamn house, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to provide room and board for a spoiled child who isn’t even capable of basic social niceties.
So she opted to get the hell out. Good riddance.
The kicker? My sister is a PhD student, with a Masters in Social Psych. Ooh… the irony.