Meeting the Mother-in-Law

Last Sunday, my girlfriend Eileen took me to Greenwich, Connecticut to meet her mother. Eileen hadn’t seen her mom, Jackie, in more than six years, which to me is nearly incomprehensible. Then again, my mother isn’t a 78-year-old hypochondriac who leaves her front door unlocked at night so the EMTs don’t have to kick it down when they come to retrieve her soon-to-be-lifeless body. Now, having a death complex doesn’t make you crazy. Neither does calling your daughter once a month to say, “The next time you see me, I’ll be in my coffin.” But, it certainly doesn’t make you much fun to be around.

Nonetheless, after a half a dozen years of phone calls, Eileen decided to skip the guilt trip and make an actual trip. She told her mom we were coming to town—for only a day, mind you—as part of weeklong visit to New York City. Of course meeting the infamous Jackster has never been high on my list of fun things to do (I think it ranks somewhere between an aggressive dental cleaning and pooping in a Porta Potty), but I was cool with it . . . mostly because I’d also get to meet her dog.

About six months ago, Jackie called to say she got a puppy. We were shocked. What about your funeral plans? And your osteoarthritic knees? Did you consider a goldfish instead? Still, we found the news comforting. Jackie finally had a companion who actually LIKED being around her. Even better, as the months passed, her woeful tales of impending heart failure were replaced by the adorable antics of Biscuit, the golden retriever who knew how to shake, sit and lie down. He loved having his ears scratched and barked with joy whenever she came home from the grocery store. Jackie’s life seemed, dare I say it, normal. Until a few months later when she said to Eileen, “You know Biscuit isn’t a real dog, right?”

Turns out Biscuit is a battery operated dog Jackie bought at Target for $179.99 (a bargain considering the special adoption certificate he came with actually guaranteed his friendship for life).

When we pulled up to Jackie’s house last Sunday, the sun was shining but my girlfriend was understandably tense. Not only would her mother spend the next six hours talking about her imminent death, she’d probably do it while shoving batteries up her dog’s ass. I did my best to help Eileen see the bright side though. I mean heck, her mom may be crazy, but at least we know what to get her for Christmas—a coffin filled with Duracells.

Shelly