My parents have this friend. I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned her before or not, but she’s in her mid to late 50s and she calls them “Mom” and “Dad” and they tell people she’s their daughter.
I’ve met her a couple of times and she doesn’t strike me as a con artist, so whatever.
I made them an afghan a million years ago, back when I was learning. They gave it to her. Which, I mean, I gave it to them. They’re free to do with it what they want. That part, on a scale of “I have a hair in my mouth, but I can’t seem to grab it” to “I stepped on a Lego in the middle of the night,” I’m putting down at the stray hair end.
Y’all. They told her that I wanted her to have the afghan.
She was deeply moved and grateful and touched. Like I had made this grand gesture to show I also thought of her as a part of the family–which I do not.
That part has me so fucking irritated with my parents. I feel utterly misrepresented to this woman who, now, through no fault of her own thinks I’m very fond of her.
And then my dad had the gall to try to read me the birthday card she gave him, because he claimed she wanted him to. I told him that didn’t sound right, that whatever she wrote to him was for him and didn’t have to do with me. He seemed irritated and brought it up a few more times, but god bless, I’m not going to… I don’t know what. Be any more embroiled in the bullshit of this than I have to be.
And then, AND THEN, he sat here in my chair, in my house, saying how he knew that everything nice I did for him–like, oh, specifically making afghans–I really intended for my mom, so that I wasn’t doing anything special for him, because I didn’t care about him.
I said, “Yep,” which ended the conversation, because a.) I think he may really think that. Which is bananas and go get on an anti-depressant, sir. 2.) So I’m supposed to sit around and… what? …beg him to believe that I love him? That the nice things I do for him I’m actually doing for him? I mean, my god, I can just do shit for my mom if I want my mom to have shit done for her. I don’t need to go to the trouble of all that subterfuge. And I sure as hell can’t prove I love him through doing nice shit for him or telling him if, indeed, he believes those gestures and words are lies. So, I guess I’m just supposed to sink back into a dynamic where I try and try to do the thing that will appease him, but it never works, because nothing will appease him, but he feels a little better because all my focus is on him?
And I don’t like him when he sits around bickering nonstop with my mom or running me down or complaining about the state of my house or trying to rope me into friendships with his friends or whatever.
So, yeah, if he was picking up on that, he wasn’t wrong.
But to sit here and try to make out like I don’t love him? Why in the hell would I put up with all of this bullshit if I didn’t love him?
It’s like, dude, either this is love or I’m a fucking idiot. And if you can’t recognize this as love, then all I can gather is that you think I’m a fucking idiot.