Guys, I’m totally over it and “it” has just started.
First, someone (husband) had the bright idea that we should leave at midnight. Of course, we over slept and left an hour late. Not too bad… Then, we picked up father-in-law who entered the car smelling like 22 packs of Marlboro. He spent the entire 10 hours on his flip phone and jamming to oldies but goodies. That flip phone has lasting power because I prayed it would die so I could get some sleep but it never did.
We finally arrived at our hotel and it’s a casino located outside of Kansas City (away from everything but filled with old people on gas tanks spending their social security on the slots). The hotel room wouldn’t be ready for another 3 hours so I recommended my new favorite restaurant that I have been dreaming about since my last trip here (approximately 3 weeks ago). Oh, I forgot to mention that it’s now 11AM and I haven’t brushed a tooth, washed my face or anything else. So not only am I in a pissy mood but I probably smell like it too. Back to the BBQ, father-in-law starts complaining about the wait. Our table is ready 10 minutes after our arrival. Of course, the first thing I order is a cocktail because I’m at a 10. Luckily, the alcohol helps me ignore his complaints about if the BBQ is going to be good or not. Upon receiving our food he then talks about how well he BBQs and attempts to dissect how they cook theirs. I’ve been with Husband for nearly 6 years and have yet to taste anything from Chef father-in-law. And, don’t get me started on how his brother (uncle-in-law) gave me heartburn with them steaks but his chicken wings was fire. Oh and father-in-law did eat all of his “subpar” food.
After was a brief visit with the family reunion host, the quickest nap in history, rushing to the runion and getting lost. Upon arrival, I asked “where is the booze?” and I felt like I could ride it out until the lengthy debate regarding why I should have children. From men. You know, because they’re so well versed in carrying and birthing a child, postpartum depression, and the challenges of balancing motherhood with a career.
Last but not least was the family reunion shirt debate. I loathe uniformed shirts which can probably be attributed to PTSD from wearing school uniforms all my life or because they are always too big and of poor quality. Without my knowledge, father-in-law paid for the shirts and then shoved an XL down my throat. Note: I’m a small boo boo. I was ready to go so I didn’t debate it. I would just do the usual, put it at the bottom of a drawyer. But when we got in the car, father-in-law explained that the situation was “bigger than me” and that he paid a lot of money for the shirts. “Bigger than me?” You know, because our ancestors fought for us to have the right to wear neon shirts with our family name and drop it like its hot (but struggle to pick it back up) to Frankie Beverly and Maze.
On to Day 2!