i am the maid

I think I have figured it out. When B says he believes his parents have accepted me, he may be right, although it is not as their daughter-in-law – but as the maid (one who is overpaid and not very good at her job, but still the hired help). And while it is true that I have always related to Benson from the series, Soap, this is so very wrong on so many levels.

On Saturday, we met some friends at Disneyland who had never been. We agreed to play tour guide weeks ago, and I was really looking forward to it. I was excited. Before I left the house, I unloaded the dishwasher so it was empty when we headed out. I was still having mild pain in my left side, but while disconcerting, it was manageable.

B’s parents went to the desert with Uncle P. He picked them up, and I guessed they had lunch before they left, as when we returned to the house around 7:30pm, the sink was filled with dishes. I figured they were “in a rush”, although to me it takes the same time to stick a dish in the sink as it does to load a dishwasher, especially if you rinse them first.

They got home around 10pm. We were watching TV, while I was doing our laundry – I love Saturday night in the ‘burbs. They went to the kitchen for a while and then turned in.

I ended up going out to the kitchen and noticed the dishes were still in the sink! Like maybe the dish fairy might show up and make them magically disappear? I tried not to get upset, and then foolishly, loaded the dishwasher while I waited for the last load of clothes to finish. Part of me was livid. This is a woman who I watched do the dishes as her 3-year old grandson nearly fell off his chair because he was ready to go to bed and she promised to read him a story (but not until after she finished the dishes).

I know it sounds crazy, but I realized that since they have been here, I have been cooking and cleaning for 4 people instead of the 2 that I normally do, although I have been told to still take things easy until my HCG levels return to zero. I have also noticed again how they seem to not be  home when we eat, or stay upstairs or something. One night they did bring home a roasted chicken from Costco, but then they went out to shop at Kmart until it closed at 10:00, so we ate without them.

For the record, eating with them is not my favorite thing. They either talk about how much the food costs or go on about how we shouldn’t be eating x, y, or z. I get lost in the contradictions. Tonight they told us avocados are good for you, although they were encouraging us to eat them with vanilla ice cream! I do believe though that it is one of the few things we can do together. One way to try and turn things around, or at least make the time go by more quickly.

And it isn’t just the cooking and cleaning. One morning we were sitting at the kitchen table while B’s mother was sharing more about B’s cousin, who we have nicknamed the Runaway. It is a crazy story, but as she sat there telling it, she never looked at me. While it was true she was having a conversation with her son, I was sitting there (listening). I know I have been in similar situations, and I always make eye contact with everyone. I really felt like I wasn’t there, which is how they treat their help back in the homeland. There is definitely a class system hard at work.

B had it out with his mother last night (while I was upstairs resting), after I went off on how I was being treated like a maid. I don’t think he used those terms, but he said he did point out that I was doing more than my share and that they were once again not eating with us. Of course, she denied and made excuses for everything.

At any rate, B mentioned that I had a whole chicken in the fridge that I planned on roasting tonight for dinner. I started doing that around 5:30pm. The house smell like chicken and garlic. I set the buzzer on the oven to go off every 30 minutes so I could rotate the chicken and add the potatoes, and start the green beans. The timer makes a fair bit of noise, so I am sure they heard it.

Imagine then how angry I was inside when B’s father comes downstairs and announces they are leaving to go shopping at Kohl’s? They hadn’t been out all day. All I could think of was that scene in Bram Stoker’s Dracula where the room is filled with blood, but in my vision, I am breaking dishes. Could they really be serious?!!

B could sense what I wanted to do, even though I hadn’t moved from the couch or said a word. So he pulled one of them aside and asked them to please stay for dinner. Begged is more likely.

Not to brag, but I am a pretty good cook. The dinner I made contained not a drop of sugar, and was low in both fat and sodium, yet was delicious. Plus, unlike someone else, I can manage to get the food to the table at the same time so it is hot. Most people beg to be invited to my table – not the other way around.

This isn’t in my head. And this isn’t something a manicure or a pills will solve. It is sick and it is very sad. I am tired of it and very very angry.