Mother In Law

First I want to thank the two men who inspired this post, Crankster who recently put up a great post on old ladies, and Tony Bitch. Crankster you probably know, but I might need to introduce Tony. I don’t remember his real name anymore, just the AKA he has used for as many years as I have known him. Now before you get the wrong idea about the name, let me say that Tony is about as masculine a man as you’re likely to run across unless you hang out with a lot of kick ass lumberjacks. He describes himself on my space as:

“Alcohol soaked brain damaged punk rock retard. I don't play hard to get I play hard to want. I sang in some shitty punk bands now I have a shitty punk label called RIFF RAFF. Watch for a new BRUTAL KNIGHTS 7" and a CARBONAS 7" in the near future.”

Tony met my daughter when she was in high school and hanging around the Punk scene in Richmond. She was straight edge then I think, but she seems to have gotten over that phase completely. My girl told me he was sweating her big time, but he was not in her game plan, plus he was too old for her. He was not the sort of boy you bring home to meet the parents, and she didn’t, but I ran across him from time to time in town and was introduced. Tony is an equal opportunity offender. It would never occur to him to sensor his language or his remarks in front of God or the President, but he was always strangely respectful around me. I was a bit concerned about her association with such a rogue, but I soon realized instead of him influencing her, she was actually making changes in him. Besides, he is a hell of a lot of fun in small doses. He attracts friends like he’s dipped in chocolate, and leaves a wake of awed whispers behind him when he shows his face anywhere in the punk scene. Oh hell, as irascible as he was and is, I like him too, and I could see he was wild for my girl.

In the course of things my baby headed off for college in Florida, and only kept loose ties with Tony, but when she came back to town they would occasionally see each other at a concert or a party. She hadn’t talked to him in more than a year, but when she started doing wedding invitations she impulsively asked him to come and join in the celebration. Someday I’ll tell the whole story of that remarkable day, and I may just leave my mother in law out of that story entirely, except for her encounter with Tony. To give you an idea of his, uh, unique personality, I will relate a story from early in the evening. Tony is in the buffet line when the beautiful bride comes strolling by in her white dress. Tony yells across the room,

“Hey, Eve, remember that time we almost fucked?” My mother in law was standing there, plus Eve’s new mother in law, and most of her new British family. They all acted like they didn’t hear. Margaret of course didn’t cause she’s near deaf, and the Brits are just polite.

“Tony” says Eve, “you know that never happened.”

Yeah”, he replies, “but I wish it had.”

Eva says to me later, “I don’t know why I forgot about Tony’s mouth. What was I thinking inviting him?” She was however laughing at the time. I immediately told her why she had and why it had been a good idea. To set the scene I should say that my wretched step mother in law was driving me crazy all evening, grabbing my arm and demanding to know what was in each and every dish I had made for the wedding, even though we had clearly labeled everything on the table for the sake of guest who were vegan, vegetarian, wheat allergic, soy allergic, tree nut allergic, peanut allergic, excreta, excreta, excreta. She was also annoying all the kitchen help with special request for food cause she didn’t like any of the more than 50 choices on the table. When she got tired of that she spent her time boring the bejesus out of every one within the sound of her croaking voice and the high pitched screech of her hearing aide. Tony was sampling the wine freely at this point and overheard one of these exchanges. He comes up to the 85 year old witch and says,

“So you must be the bride’s sister, right?” Margaret, who has no earthly comprehension of either humor or irony, explained to him in her best schoolteacher voice that he was incorrect; she was the bride’s grandmother. Tony looks incredulous, shakes his head repeatedly, accuses her of lying, and insists she shouldn’t tease him that way. He lays it on thick as molasses and to my wicked delight so help me God, she bought it! Tony was really on a roll now. He had that sucker on the hook and he was going to play it for a while. She protested again and again, and then Tony says, arm extended in front of his face, “Talk to the hand, don’t you lie to me.” She starts tittering like a 13 year old, and still believes he is actually coming on to her. My sides hurt from holding back the laughter, but I just can’t walk away till this is done. Finally, still giggling, she called him a naughty boy and headed back up the steps, glancing over her shoulder as she retreated. It was the most fun I have ever had with Margaret in the same room. Tony slipped away without saying goodbye that evening, mostly because someone stuffed his drunken comatose body in a car and took him back to the city. I really should send him a nice bottle of booze and a thank you note.