Yes, and without our consent. Apparently there wasn’t enough time to get them engraved between the purchase and the shower. This is probably true, but why engrave them at all?
And the amount of bullshit I got for allowing my wife to pick out a ring that was “too thin…”! ugh! It wasn’t until I saw the engraving on mine that the weeks of bitching about the thinness of the wife’s ring became clear.
No amount of explanation could convince my wife that they wanted to engrave hers too, but couldn’t. Not that it mattered. We both thought it was tacky that they’d engrave them at all - ESPECIALLY with “Love, Mom & Dad.”
This sort of thing tends to boil over into war with my parents, so I decided non-recognition of the inscription was the best course of action. Years went by until my mom finally caved and asked if I ever take off my ring. She then asked if I noticed the inscription. I told her that I did, and that while her heart was in the right place, the result probably didn’t match her expectation. I also said that it was best to just let it go unless she wanted to create another rift that she couldn’t repair.
It’s amazing how much power having our own child has given me over my parents.
When I was 23, I was riding in the car with my mother. I had been dating a guy for several months and had been coming home very early in the morning.
My mother says to me, “I know in my heart that you are a virgin, no matter what anyone else says.”
It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact. And since I indeed would qualify as “anyone else” - and since she did not solicit any response, I didn’t give one.
After all, children should be seen and not heard . . .
He’s open about the personal stuff, and yet random family minutiae are ignored, while Mom’s family is the opposite. They excel at the family minutiae while anything personal is not to be spoken of.
My father was an outstanding human being, but when it came to bad news he was incapable of thinking things through.
When I was 17 I came home from school to find that he had to take my dog of 14 years to be put to sleep that morning. He didn’t want me to miss anything in school so he didn’t bother to call and tell me. Like anything covered in English class was more important than saying goodbye to my lifelong friend.
When one of my best friends was killed by a drunk driver, he left the detailed message on my answering machine, rather than saying, “It’s important. Call me back.” I stumbled in at 0600 from a bachelor party to find that on my machine. He also tried to give me a detailed description of the crash while I was eating breakfast at his and mom’s place the morning of the funeral.
When he had his first heart attack, he told my mom not to call and tell me he was in the hospital, since he didn’t want to worry me. I found out when I just happened to call home for a chat. My girlfriend and I were in the car for the two hour drive the next day. In retrospect, my yelling at him for being a thoughtless jerk while he lay strapped to heart monitor (which did start beeping a bit louder) may not have been my kindest move, but I certainly got called the next time.
My wife’s grandmother is getting a little batty. In the recent past she has taken to pointing out mistakes others have made with great amusement. The most recent instances relate to their move from the retirement home cottages to the apartments this past winter.
This first involved my MIL who had flown down and was busting her ass in a most unappreciated manner to help them get unpacked, etc, after their move. She was up late one night doing dishes and - oh, I can barely contain my laughter while typing this - failed to get her rubber gloves all the way into the cabinet before closing it. That’s right, the gloves were peaking out a little bit! Her mother made a big production about pointing this out the next day, like it was at the same level of absentmindedness as putting the newspaper in the freezer instead of the garbage or something.
The next was when my wife sent her a thank you note or some other corrspondence and she addressed it to their old address! Comedy gold I tell you! And it wasn’t enough to merely tell my wife about this, grandma actually put the misaddressed envelope in another envelope and mailed it back as proof!
My grandmother once sent me a handwritten full page note explaining the proper usage of lie and lay. In it she noted that she had given up on persuading other members of the family to use the words correctly, but perhaps I could set a good example for them.
I’ll admit, my Dad has his spelling issues, but I’ve not noticed a tendency to misuse lie and lay. Nor do I believe that I tend to misuse them.
But I did so once, and Grandma was bound and determined to help me get it right.
It was kind of funny, really, after I got over the shock of realizing what the nice personal note from my grandmother actually was. Grandma was in the habit of sending a typed weekly letter to all three sons, her sisters-in-law, and her brother. It was not usual for her to send fullpage personalized notes as well.
I don’t know if anybody’s mentioned it yet, but I believe you may be looking for the word fractious.
As to the topic of the thread: one of my sisters is still annoyed that neither I, the hospital, or my job called her when I collapsed from my diabetes a few years back. I didn’t call her because I was unconscious for two days, and the hospital didn’t call her because the phone number I had for her (her cell phone) was wrong, as she had just changed carriers and I didn’t know. My work didn’t call because I wasn’t there when I collapsed (and, anyway, they didn’t have her number for the same reason as the hospital. When I was released I called her to get a ride home, only didn’t get her because, after all, she had a new phone number; so I called someone else to get a ride home.
I talk to my mother each night, usually (I’m 22, and haven’t lived at home in 5 years, I live about 2.5 hours away). Sometimes, when she can’t reach me on the phone, she goes absolutely ape-shit crazy. Two examples:
I’m going to visit the BF who lives out in the middle of nowhere for a weekend. On my way, I call her, let her know my phone has been messing up (technically true) and I’ll keep in touch via email for the weekend. Which I do. Driving home Sunday, I get no fewer than 18 missed phone calls from her, most of them with voice mails. These range from Friday night “Can we open the DVD you bought and watch it?” to Sunday “I’m calling the Arkansas State police and putting a missing person report out on you if I don’t hear from you by 5 PM”, then a voice mail from my roommate telling me to call her, then a message from her saying “I wish you had told me you were going to Louis’, I would have been fine with that!”
(Which she wouldn’t have, as she resented that I was an 18-year-old dating a 56-year-old.)
The most recent time was a Saturday night, I was going to a “bears-in-underwear” party - got there around 9, left at 2, and had several voicemails/texts from my siblings/emails from my mother. When I woke up at 10 AM the next morning, the totals were 9 phone calls, 4 texts from my younger brother and sister on her behalf, and 4 emails from her wondering where I was. In the span of barely 12 hours.
I know she means well, but DAMN if I can’t just have a little time alone!
When I was around 9 or 10, my grandmother gave me the shock of my life when she threw the n-word casually into a conversation. Up to that point I had always thought of her as a kind, soft-spoken, friendly Southern Lady. Well, she was Southern all right.
As an aside, I think it speaks well of my parents that I got to that age still able to be shocked by that word. They were both raised in a time and place where it was used casually and often, including by their parents, but they didn’t pass it down to me and my sister at all.
My mothere belonged (and my father still does) to a Pentecostal church that is, frankly, batshit nuts. My mother once stood up in church and testified that among the things she was grateful to God for was the fact that her eldest son had been a virgin when he married.
I was maybe 12 years old then and thought this was mildly inappropriate.
But not as inappropriate as I thought things were when I was 19 and I overheard a conversation, again in church, between my parents and their pastor as to whether they should arrange a marriage between my baby sister and the pastor’s son when they were of age. I began seriously making plans to abscond with her the moment she turned 18.
My mother was talking to my sister one day when she was home from college about something, and made an offhand comment about her certainly still being a virgin. My sister couldn’t stop herself from one little giggle, and then had to tell my mother than she wasn’t a virgin. My mom cried for a week. Red-eyed, tears, nose blowing, the works, for an entire week. I am soooooooo glad that I wasn’t home for it.