Mother in Law

MOTHER IN LAW

It's important that you understand that I love my mother-in-law. There
have been times, during the thirty years that I have been married to
her son, when I could not have managed without her. She has looked
after my children at a moments notice, comforted me when times were bad
and even paid my electricity bill when times were worse than bad. So
why do I feel slightly depressed when she comes to stay for a few
days?
The problem is that she talks, non-stop, the whole time she is
there.
" She's lonely," sympathises my husband. Then he promptly disappears to
the pub, followed hastily by my son. Meanwhile, I am left to hear about
Molly's hysterectomy.
" It's not like it used to be," she confides in a whisper. " They use a
vacuum cleaner now." Thankfully I miss the next half hour of grisly
details, my mind is still struggling with the practicalities of
insertion [surely, even a cylinder model must pose tremendous
problems].
After Molly is dispensed with we progress to the entire family tree of
everyone she knows. It starts innocently enough.
" You know Gertie's granddaughter?" she asks. I fall effortlessly into
the trap by shaking my head.
" Yes you do," she insists. " Not very tall, a bit plump. She married
that lad with ginger hair. His dad is one of the Barnes's who used to
live on Roe Greave. There were three brothers and a sister. The
youngest boy got killed in a motorbike accident and the other brother
married a cousin of Sheila Mercer's who had the shop in Thwaites Road.
He left her, ran off with that Annie who used to work behind the bar at
the club. Anyway, she divorced him and then she took up with Ken
whatsisname, from Trinity Street. I used to work with his mother and
she was a flighty piece I can tell you."
The problem is that she can go on in this vein for hours and I don't
know any of these people, except from previous monologues.
Just as my eyes begin to glaze over she reels me back in.
" Anyway I saw her in Asda."
" Who?" I ask in total confusion.
" Gertie's granddaughter !" She say, in a tone that implies that I
haven't been listening. And with barely a pause she is off on a
different tack.
She also has some very strange idea's. According to her, my husband
would never have lost his hair had he worn his spectacles as a
child.
Our cat is a constant source of worry to her, because she once knew a
woman who got a cat hair in her mouth and it killed her. I found out
long ago that it is useless to question these bizarre pronouncements,
she knows what she knows, full stop.
Most of the things shown on television are [ in her opinion] full of
sex and violence.
" They will be taking their clothes off to read the news next," is her
familiar cry[ interesting idea though].
Old black and white films are her one great love. So when she is with
us, these are invariably what we watch. You could be forgiven for
thinking that watching these films would give me some respite. Wrong!
She knows every single plot in every single film and gives a running
commentary throughout. Yet strangely, she seems constantly surprised by
the events that unfold.
" Oh my God it's sunk," she says dramatically of the Titanic. And
here's me thinking it was common knowledge.
But when she leaves I have such mixed feelings. On one hand, my ears
will be glad of the rest, but then I remember that she is an old lady,
we are her only family and she lives some distance away, she must be
very lonely. Deep down I know the real reason for my depression about
her visits. Sometimes I listen to her chattering her life away and a
horrible thought surfaces. Is this me in thirty years time?