I'm feeling rather irked this evening. It comes down to family, as it so often does. My family is medium-sized, I guess. Basically, it's my dad, his fiancee' (of at least five years, but I've seriously lost count at this point) my two older brothers, my younger brother, and Matt & me. The eldest brother has a wife and kids, the next eldest has a fiancee' and several pending step-kids.
Ever since Matt and I bought our house, we've hosted Thanksgiving here. Matt and I cook dinner (with my eldest brother's help) because we're the only ones in the family that can cook worth a darn. My dad's idea of cooking dinner is a canned ham and canned gravy over potato buds. His fiancee' doesn't care; she lost her sense of taste several years back and at every single meal we eat says, "The texture is marvelous. I just wish I could taste it." I sympathize. In fact, I'd probably turn to a life of crime if I couldn't taste my food. But...I'm so tired of hearing it. Everyone else is, too.
So my dad and the fiancee' take care of her grandkids pretty much all day every day. Why? Because her daughter (let's call her Drusilla, for poetry's sake) is a terminal fuck-up. She's divorced with two kids, has been through bankruptcy twice, and won't get day care because her mother will watch the kids. Her mother is on disability because of some orthopaedic issues, but hey, why not have her watching two small kids all day? And let's not forget that Drusilla is a WHORE. I swear to God, she tried to take my dad to bed a few years ago. This was just before she tried to take a boyfriend (at the time) of mine to bed. I had to make a very conscious, difficult decision to not smite her into the dust. What do I get for letting her live?
I'm wandering, here. I called my dad tonight to confirm that we'd be having Turkey Day here at our house again and he said, "Oh. Well. Drusilla is hosting a Thanksgiving dinner this year and she'd like everyone to come here."
*Quietness. Sounds of grasshoppers singing in the grass. I think you could have heard my blinking my eyes. Repeatedly.*
Thanksgiving is at my house, boys and girls. That's the tradition. The kids sled down the driveway after dinner. I park my car down there specially so that they won't go zinging right onto the highway. This is MY TRADITION!!!
I've no idea what to do about this. Youngest brother doesn't give a shit as long as he gets to eat for free. Middle brother may not even be coming home from Eastern Idaho for turkey day. Eldest brother said, "I was really hoping that you'd pitch a wall-eyed fit over the whole thing and I could tell Dad, 'You know, I really feel like I need to support Casey on this.'" I'm tempted, I really am.
Eldest brother hates the future step-mother (for tedious reasons I won't go into here), and would love it if we could rally and say in our own little passive-aggressive way that we don't really care to become the Brady Bunch, thank you very much.
I've fallen into the role of peace-maker for years now, and it's hard to fight that. I don't know what to do.