Steph, if you are that upset by your father-in-law I think you should ask Tim to talk to his father privately and stand up for you. Or do it yourself. I think it can be done in a way that's not angry just honest. "X topic of conversation makes us uncomfortable. Could you please stop talking about it?" No need to explain or elaborate. It doesn't need to be a fight.
And next year take separate vacations!
I had to tell my brother and sister-in-law to please, please not bicker because they were making my vacation unpleasant. (On Topsail Island, actually!) It was uncomfortable but it mostly worked and I felt better about having said something rather than just tolerating when I was trying to relax.
I am pretty sure my upstairs neighbor rang our doorbell as she was coming in just to annoy us. We don't even both to answer the doorbells that go off past 9 anymore because they are always for upstairs. It's a good thing we're going to the beach this weekend or I would need to request an alibi.
dear lord, sj. are they twelve?
Four. Jesus. Aw Smonster...
smonster, I am so glad it was you, and not someone else.
Here's devoutly hoping he snuck away, fibbed to you and is SO grounded.
No, 16, I think. Just immature as heck.
Did you walk him home? Poor little kid.
Here's devoutly hoping he snuck away, fibbed to you and is SO grounded.
My one sister was an escape artist. And a nudist. More than once between the ages of 3 and 4 she ran off to the playground and was brought back naked or in borrowed clothing by nuns, the cops, and one elderly neighbor.
I did. Ended up carrying him while he held Frankie's leash, because the storm was coming pretty quickly. He scampered around the back, so I didn't actually get to see him go inside, but it seemed like his house.
Aw, Tep. Dude. Um, there is A LOT that Tim's family doesn't seem to know about him, huh?
I think he told his parents a little tiny bit a long time ago, which they promptly willfully repressed. He's out to one brother, though it's not something they ever talk about; he just knows the whole kaboodle.
I'm out to my bro, and that's all. My family doesn't need to know about my sex life. They would probably be okay with it, but even if all I ever had was married monogamous in-the-dark man-on-top once-a-week PiV sex in a bed, they still don't need to know.
I vote you smile sweetly whenever Pop starts and plan an elaborate two gown wedding in your head the whole time he is talking.
I am not a good enough girlfriend to be okay with a two-gown wedding. I wish I were, but I want to wear the drop-dead gorgeous dress. He wears them the rest of the damn time, damn his tiny butt.
I mean, it's not an issue because (1) marriage is not in the forseeable future, no matter what his dad says, and (2) he's not out enough to crossdress at any wedding we may or may not have.
But I *still* wanna be the one in the pretty pretty dress.
There is a weird dilemma sometimes with a genderqueer partner. I love having a boyfriend who is also literally my girlfriend. But sometimes I want just the boyfriend. (And sometimes I want just the girlfriend.) And most times it doesn't matter, because he just fills the slot in my life labeled "Partner in Crime, Gender Irrelevant."
But sometimes I do want just the boyfriend, and getting married would be one of those times, hello to the hetero- and cis-normativity. Some ally I am.
Then look at your watch, whip out a compass, grab the welcome mat, and drop for prayers. Five times a day. For the rest of the vacation.
I would so do this if I weren't so fucking unreliable when it comes to keeping a schedule.
ION, we went on a dinner cruise tonight. I woke up fighting a sore throat (possibly a cold, but possibly just irritated from the forest fire smoke). I asked the bartender what would stop a sore throat. He asked, "Do you want it to taste good, or do you want it strong?"
"I want it to WORK," I said.
He poured me -- hand to god -- 8 ounces of Crown Royal over ice and then sloshed about 1 ounce of ginger ale on top. After drinking it, my throat was still sore, but I did not care.
