Grrrrrrr.
All my instincts protested, but I went along when my husband invited his ne’er-do-well brother to stay at our house for ‘a couple of weeks’ while he ‘looked for a new place.’ I’ve never liked the guy. I’d pretty much only been exposed to him a few hours at a time, family celebrations mostly – and he rarely remained pleasant for even that length of time before drinking too much and getting loud and crude and dipping into his apparently infinite stock of racist and sexist ‘jokes.’ Still. His wife had thrown him out, and he had nowhere to go, and he’s family. What can you do?
What neither my husband or I knew was that brother (hereafter called “The Slug”) had been fired for cause/laid off/quit – the story varies – and he and his wife had basically no savings and are in heavy credit card debt. Oh, yeah. With that as a background, he should have no trouble at all finding someone to rent to him quickly. :rolleyes:
His residence in our guest room has just passed the two month mark. No job, no apartment in sight. In fact, so far as I can tell, no job or apartment hunting has even occured.
The Slug sleeps in each day – how late I don’t know, but he’s never ever seen or heard before I’ve left for work – then he moves to the couch in our living room. As best I can tell, he in on that couch continuously watching television except for meal and bathroom breaks until 11 p.m. I’m sure he’d stay there longer, except that I insist that he turn off the television at 11 since it’s too loud in our bedroom and we at least have to get up in the morning. (Yes, there’s a television in the guest room, but it’s not a big screen like the living room one. The Slug wants the best, of course.)
It probably goes without saying, but The Slug has not contribute one penny towards the household expenses. Which is okay, we can afford to feed him. Even though, I swear, he eats twice as much as my husband despite doing nothing at all to work up an appetite. Then he dares to grumble about how he is fat and my husband isn’t, and thus my husband must have gotten all the ‘lucky genes’.
But what utterly annoys me is, he has ‘preferences.’ About everything! It must be Brand X hot dogs. Brand Y bread. Brand Z toilet paper. On and on and on. Nothing else will do – if you like anything different, you are WRONG and he’ll tell you why at infinite length.
Oh, not that he’ll actually refuse to eat because I’ve bought the ‘wrong’ brand. He’ll still eat chomp his way through four hot dogs for lunch if I forget and buy Ballpark instead of the favored Hebrew National (or maybe it’s the other way round?) but he’ll mumble through each and every mouthful how much worse these are and how I must be sure to buy those next time.
This week he DARED to annotate the shopping list I keep on the fridge door. I wrote down sliced turkey, he added “Boar’s Head”, I worote down ketchup, he added “Heinz”. Down the entire list!!! :mad: :mad:
Guess what? I did the shopping this morning and I bought the ‘wrong’ brand of every damn item. Even the ones where I normally buy the brand he specified, I got something else instead.
And the first time he DARES say anything about it, I will snatch away his plate and tell him to go buy his own damn food if he doesn’t like what we have. <pant, pant>
God, it makes me so angry to ordered around by someone sponging off me.
