My dear mother-in-law

2024 Author: James Gerald | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 14:00

I am a hymn to you, oh mom Galya, I'm ready to sing !!!!

I am Vixen. Every day my unhappy husband begins by listening to the Morning Declaration of His Nothingness in my performance:

- No, well, how long will this last !!!? When is your salary? Why at the end of the month ??? Why do my girlfriends husbands bring their wages every two days, and I have to wait until the end of the month ??? Yeah, because you don't know how to steal … Good shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh? Hence the moral: you do not know how to steal, so die, Svetochka, starvation without a new skirt! So you don't care what shoes your wife will wear to work in the fall. So what, that now is the end of May ??? Yes, I'm already thinking about autumn !!!

The evening brings practically nothing new with it. I, like a Budenov horse after another attack, come home tired and angry, which simply must immediately pour out Niagara on my sweetheart:

- Ahha … Oh, how sad we are today … We again worked hard for the good of the Fatherland, not sparing our belly … By the way, about the belly … When did you look at yourself the last time in profile? This is all - lying in front of the TV and watching endless football matches. Listen, do the players have vacations at all? Even the deputies go on vacation, and these are all chasing and chasing their ball. Adults are people, but they behave - just the third grade, the second quarter!

I am Vixen. I know it. And my husband knows it. Sometimes he tries to turn me off with the TV remote control, sometimes he just doesn't pay any attention to me. But I know one thing: he forgives me everything. Because … Because once a week we go to visit his parents on the other side of the city. And no matter how thrown our family boat in this raging sea of life, no matter how I hissed at my husband, before … I roll into my mother-in-law's apartment in a little white and fluffy lump.

First, her relationship to her own son. From an early age, she taught him that a woman is not a food processor, dishwasher, washing machine and sweeper combined. Making breakfast isn't about demeaning. Ironing your own trousers is not the height of heroism. And the Wife should in no way resemble an android with string bags in her hands, snotty children on the side and with eternal burned-out chemistry on her head. A beautiful well-groomed wife is the main merit of a husband. It is simply necessary to strive for this for every self-respecting man. Secondly, her relationship to her own family and home. Any my attempts to sit on a diet for a week or two, like timid waves crashing against the side of a ship called "Oh, so I whipped up something to eat." An ambulance manages to dump pickles, smoked meats, preserves, marinades, rolls, sourdoughs, pies, cheesecakes, cakes, sweets and even wine on the table, all of which is of its own production. When does she manage to do all this? Oh, what a year I have not been able to solve this mystery. The phone in their house almost never goes off. I need to borrow money, borrow a cake recipe, get professional advice from a psychologist from life - my mother-in-law works faster than 911.

Her apartment resembles an illustration for the article "What can be done with a house with a small income, but with a good imagination." Only one palm tree, which has been growing in her for more than 25 years, is worth it! It is truly a spectacular sight. And the third and most important thing. Her attitude towards me. In her house, I have no right: to wash the dishes (what was still missing), to read Bolshevik newspapers at dinner (following the example of Professor Preobrazhensky, she believes that this has a bad effect on digestion), to eat less than 10 kilograms (oh, you probably don't I liked it), get up before her (girl, did these nasty dogs interfere with sleep in the yard?) And so on, and so forth, and so on … flowers (according to legend, only stolen flowers are well accepted), cut bread for dinner (and everything else is already ready).

I would really like to be such a mother-in-law. Well, for now … Bye, I spend hours telling my second mother about the merits of her own son. And I'm afraid that during our absence from our parents, God forbid, he would not lose weight. I help her daughter (that is, her husband's sister) prepare for the exams. I print out different recipes for her, gleaned, especially for such an occasion, from the World Wide Web. I ask my father-in-law if the tomatoes are ripe at the dacha (she knows that I don't understand anything about this, but she is still pleased). And I am even worried about the health of their ever-pregnant cat, with whom we have developed a rather strained relationship, from my very first appearance in this apartment.

Dear mom Galya! You are indeed the kindest, wonderful and wonderful mother-in-law in the world! In gratitude for your intelligence, warmth and feminine wisdom, I undertake not to nag your son during our entire subsequent married life..! Until tomorrow morning!