She drives me crazy – Part II

As per my previous post, after coming back from visiting my friend ( I’ll call her Marissa) who lives in the country, I kept analyzing the reasons for my major discomfort. My husband, who as I said has a little trouble being around her for too long, says that I need to stop torturing myself for having been disagreeable. He says I just have to be who I am and stop tormenting myself over it.

Realistically speaking, I don’t think it is humanly possible for me to sit around seeing the stuff I saw and feeling the stuff I felt and say nothing. It would be way too hard.

But I’d better be more specific. During the last few days, I’ve been analyzing her behaviour, trying to figure out why she annoys me so much.

This woman is a psychologist who stopped working in the field because—I think—she had trouble with authority. As for the rest of her background, as far as I know she comes from a middle class family with good manners and a good financial situation.

But she acts really weirdly. For instance, she wears clothes that don’t match, decorates horribly, and seems to know nothing regarding all things house and good manners. At some point she showed me, proudly, an old, terrible, wrinkled table runner that she bought at the thrift shop. Worse yet, she doesn’t use it to decorate the table, she uses it as tablecloth. That is, at meal times, she spreads the horrible thing on the table, and removes it after. Maybe I’m the crazy one, but I use runners as decoration. At meal times I use a tablecloth. Also, she doesn’t use napkins at the table. For every meal, I had to go to the bathroom to get toilet paper, so I could wipe my fingers.

Another disturbing incident happened when she got me to teach her children to make an ethnic hot beverage from my country, and I needed a measuring cup. She only has one, and I’d seen it in the washroom. So, in the middle of teaching the kids, and after having asked for the cup a couple of times, I had to go to the washroom myself to get the measuring cup, so I could continue with my recipe. (Sometimes I think it possible that she is insane.)

All this is upsetting me because, when we were single, I was very insecure. New in Canada, I thought she knew better and let her boss me around and criticize me, as if I was always wrong and she was right.

Twelve years later, I have developed a much healthier self-esteem, have learned things about life, like decorating, cooking, baking, sewing, and etiquette, and I can see now that she is as ignorant as they come. She knows nothing. She is clueless. (Isn’t that what happens to children when they grow up and discover that their parents don’t know everything after all?)

Every time I remember that five years ago she came to my beautiful home and tried to redecorate it, I get really angry. But, angry at who? At myself, perhaps, for having trusted her judgment. I should have stood up for myself, but I didn’t.

Going back to the present, I now finally realize what her problem is. It is easy to see where her parents screwed up when you see her dealing with her own children. For instance, her little girl wears, say, a shinny dressy outfit to the mall, because she wants to. That’s enough for mommy, that the little girl wants to. It hasn’t occurred to her that her role in life is to guide her daughter though life, to help her fit in. No. Her role in life is to (1) praise everything her daughter does, (2) let her do whatever she wants—in areas where mommy doesn’t care, (3) teach her to care very much about other people’s opinions, and (4) kiss, her, hug her, etc, overly so.

It may sound good on paper, but in practice it produces horrible results, as exemplified by how difficult it is to tolerate Marissa, by many accounts.

Marissa is a sucker for praise. She is always asking if you like whatever she does, wears, cooks, etc. And you must praise her, because if you don’t, she’ll keep asking what she did wrong, how she can improve, and—not on those words but—how can she possibly get you to praise her. In other words, she behaves like a four year old.

The four days I was at her house, among other things, she sang aloud so I could hear her (she is an amateur singer, BTW), and she fished for compliments continually. Come on, everybody knows she sings well. Do we need to tell her 24 hours a day?

She showed me all the schoolwork that her homeschooled kids have produced for years, and I had to pretend to love the stuff. It was good stuff, but why submit me to such torture?

She showed me the dress collection of her daughter, from babyhood to today (six years). I was expected to praise each piece of shit, because if I didn’t, she would start asking what was wrong with the dresses.

Personally, I think it is all about balance. Parents should give their children some room to breathe regarding choices, but some guidance should be offered. For instance, shinny dresses are for special occasions, to the mall you wear something comfy, like jeans.

Also, teach your kids to be who they are, sure. Tell them to use their instinct and their taste. Why not? But also be sure to let them know that if they’re going to be different from the “pack,” they shouldn’t expect a standing ovation. Teach your kids that being different has consequences and that, if they’re going to be different, they should be prepared to be bullied, laughed at, or at the very least, not praised by everyone and sundry.

Teach your kids that people are too busy living their own lives. They don’t have time to (1) be praising everything you do, or (2) to care at all. Praise-thirsty people can get on every one’s nerves. Marissa does.

I strongly believe her problem is that her parents didn’t guide her at all and praised everything she did. The end result is a person who doesn’t know how to do anything right but expects you to praise everything she does.

On this trip, for the first time in my life, I expressed my disagreement. I said no many times. It is too bad that there being so many people in this world, it falls on my shoulders to let that narcissist know that no, she isn’t perfect, not by a long shot. Shame on her parents for letting her think she is. (Actually, I have it in good authority that her husband is just hanging on for dear life, and that he and I agree on almost everything regarding his wife’s behaviour.)

One disagreement was about her three year old who had never, according to her, stayed with anyone but mom or dad. When she asked me if I was willing to stay with him, I said, “Sure, but don’t make a big deal out of it. Just go, OK?”

“But he needs to know that I won’t be home.”
“No he doesn’t.”
“Yes, he does.”
“No, he doesn’t.”

Of course, I wasn’t saying, “Don’t say bye to him.” I was saying “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

She goes, “Honey, mommy and daddy are leaving, OK? Are you going to be fine with L----? Mommy and daddy are coming soon honey. Don’t worry about it… blah, blah, blah.”

And she went on, and on, and on until he actually turned around and walked away. It was almost as if she were saying, “I am staying long enough for you to cry, because mommy needs to know that you can’t live without her.”

I felt like slapping her. But, the kid chose to tearlessly stay with me, anyway. That I found hard to believe. But it did happen.

Yes, I was disagreeable. Yes, I spoke my mind. Yes, perhaps I shouldn’t have. But I am thinking that I shouldn’t worry too much. Maybe she’ll just get tired of not being praised by me and will never call me again. I won’t be too broken hearted.

Anyway, if you made it to this last line, I thank you with all my heart. Thank you for reading this long post. Talk about bitching!