The grimmest of news arrived with my e and bacon last week: My wife's sister, the dreaded Pearl, would be foisting herself onto our perfect world for no less than two weeks beginning this weekend. She is an appalling woman, no matter how charitable one is.
The last time, it began with the ceremonial castration of yours truly, if not actual then certainly psychological. To Pearl's way of thinking, the most egregious action my wife, Kitty, has ever taken was to allow me into their family, and that is only the tip of the you know what.
If I say "Hello," I am a loud braggart. If I say nothing, on the other hand, I am a simpleton. There is nothing I can do to alter her opinion of me, and I am almost beyond caring. I can live with all that, but to have her in the "tall grass" of our house is beyond ghastly.
I do admit in the quiet of night that my intellect has the consistency of Swiss cheese and has wearied the most hardy teacher, but I also think of myself as deeply sweet and therefore should be forgiven my inadequacies.
There is not admittedly a huge school of thought in my favour on this subject but I cling to it nonetheless. Pearl does not.
I think it all went off the rails between Pearl and me at the starter's gun when I stepped on her toes during introductions at a tea party one afternoon long ago.
I recall she was being coquettish and whispered a greeting I could not make out, forcing me to move closer. Unfortunately, I did not realize in those early days that her feet resembled those of a walrus, circular and flat, so I overstepped the mark and came down hard on her (where-it-should-not-be) extremity. Still I don't think the situation called for her exaggerated hopping about, not to mention the use of the demotic that would have turned heads at a Teamster convention.
Things hotted up after that, for at the Christmas following my wedding to Kitty (unattended by Pearl) she deliberately struck me in the scrotum with a field-hockey stick, and then laughed as I crawled while barking in anguish on the living-room carpet.
Lord, I am grateful that I am not the owner of any weapon. I am sorry about her foot, but a stick between the legs is outrageous.
On another occasion, Pearl arrived in France unannounced during a vacation Kitty and I had planned for several years and claimed to be staying only a few days. Two weeks later, she had alienated everyone in the nearby town, including the mayor, whom she had accused of collaboration during the Second World War. The man was barely 40 and had not been born during that terrible time, but understandably took enormous exception to the suggestion anyway. She threw stones at the postman for speaking French, and told the baker that his baguettes were concrete.
We left under a cloud of anti-Canadianism.
I thought after the misadventure in France, Kitty would never forgive her sister and I could rest easy in the area of unwanted sisters. However, life works in strange ways, for after a cooling-off period Kitty was overwhelmed with a sickly sisterly love and we were back to Square One, ugh. It is a very good thing that I am deeply in love with my wife, plus I was born with the patience of a canal mule.
With Pearl's arrival looming, I told all my friends to forgive me if in the next little while I snapped at them for no apparent reason; my sister-in-law's visit completely discombobulates my usually benign nature.
Then the most marvellous thing happened. Pearl was hit by a bus - just a glancing blow but enough to damage the bus and delay her arrival. The sensitive and now institutionalized driver is suing over her language.
[email protected] Twitter: @TheYYJMajor
