So what would the holidays be without family drama? (And, there was no alcohol involved!) I had a big cup of CRAZY served on a platter this weekend. After lunch on Saturday, I asked my SIL questions about her mom's health, a recent operation and doctor visits. Four hours after our conversation a raging lunatic emerged. It seems her hours of ruminating resulted in crisscrossed-wires. SIL misconstrued my concern as laying blame for her mother's failing condition.
Follow, if you will, the sequence of events in BIZARRE-O land:
I was making blueberry muffins for Sunday's breakfast and asked SIL if she had Tupperware or Ziploc to store them in. The coo-coo switch flipped during her container search. Suddenly, a bowl was hurled to the floor, F-bombs launched, a violent rage ensued with shrieking screams and spewing venom.(Think RHONJ Theresa Giudice's table toss.) Then she launched towards me with such force that Cowboy had to jump in front of her before she nailed me. (I've never been in a bitch fight but methinks that where she was headed!) In fact, I've never been on the receiving end of such smack-talk in my life. #takeaclassclass
Sister storms outside. Cowboy follows. She reloads and aims at her brother. Direct hit. Cowboy (and the neighbors) then get an earful of Sissie's sequestered frustration, condemnation, resentment and anger. See Dr. Phil schedule airing 2016.
I've. had. ENOUGH.
Exit stage left. Time to relo to a hotel.
I sling my cram-packed-in-a-jam Vera Bradley over my shoulder and bid the family adieu.
As I am departing these are the last words spoken to me,
"Why are you leaving?"
And as I drove out of sight I wished, Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.