Self-inflicted wounds

Disclaimer: This is long and kind of angry sounding, but by the end of it, I was actually laughing (which is way better than seething anger, right?). I apologize in advance if you are offended. 
I just needed to get this off my chest.

My father always told my brother and me: you don’t marry the person,
you marry their entire family. For better or for worse.
When I fell in love with and married my Mr. Smith,
I got a real doosey.
The original story was that Mr. Smith’s parents had divorced when he was a kid,
but miraculously had remained close and actually had a good relationship.
Yeah, there was so much more to that story.
As time passed, I started to find out the real story and it was not as candy-coated as that original version. There was no satisfying nougat center, just rotten, black decay full of lies and secrets.
Two days before Mr. Smith and I jetted to Las Vegas to get married, my future Monster-in-Law called. She was frantic with worry. She wanted my Mr. Smith to rush to an attorney and draw up a will. This will needed to be very specific. It needed to cut me out of any inheritance should some 
horrible accident befall Mr. Smith.
In her mind, you see, she had her reasons. She had to do everything in her power to keep a roof over her head. Mr. Smith happened to own the house that Monster-in-Law was currently squatting in and she was worried that I might kick her lazy ass out. Of course, I had no intention of doing such a thing, although, in retrospect I should have.
I had no interest in the Monster-in-Law, her house, or any stupid will. I was in love and wanted to marry this man. I had no intention of stealing that hot mess of a house. I had found the love of my life and I was going to marry him no matter what.

Lock, stock and two smoking in-laws. 

Anyone who knows me well will tell you, I am not interested in money.
For me, this was about this man and our future.
Not only did I score the MOST wonderful Monster-in-Law, I got the added free bonus of
The Human Doormat.
Yeah, this would be my Father-in-Law. My poor hapless, helpless, hopeless Father-in-Law.
Way back when he was a sullen angry young man that made the fatal mistake of making a bad marriage, as Jane Austen would probably say.
He married a monster.
Believe me, I know how bad that sounds, but I am being kind. The woman is a total nightmare.
She conned him into having two children he never wanted.

She somehow tricked him into reconciling after being separated, and conned him into buying a house that they could in no way afford.
She conned him into working three jobs (in Simi Valley while they lived in Irvine) while she spent lavishly to decorate the house they could not afford.
She told her sons that he filed for divorce and attempted to destroy her with a high-powered divorce attorney, when in reality, she had hired an expensive attorney, took the house and made him pay her legal fees while he served as his own attorney for most of the case.
She agreed to sell the house they could not afford and split the proceeds…three separate times…and each time welched on the agreement. He eventually gave up and gifted her his share of the house out of sheer exasperation and defeat.
She paraded around…in the buff…in front of her young sons…well into their teenage years. I can’t think about that one too much. It gives me the willies.
She conned her oldest son into buying the house from her, claiming she just needed some time to get another job and get back on her feet.
She then decided that she could no longer work, despite the fact that she did not have a job and had made no attempt to get one. So, she pretty much decided to retire from a job she did not have to be supported by her son who could not afford to support her and the house she could never afford in the first place. Whew.
 She had actually conned her son into writing her a check each month, so she could make the house payment from her own checking account (to maintain her elaborate charade of home ownership and affluence), and then having him pay her rent on top of that payment, as though she still owned the house.

When her son attempted on multiple occasions to sell the house, she refused to cooperate.

She threw a plate at her son’s head when he questioned her insistence that they have asbestos removed without adhering to safe removal standards, believing instead that they should do it via the cheapest method and not bother with safety.
At various times in her life she has claimed to have all the following ailments: epilepsy, macular degeneration, emphysema, arthritis, severe hearing loss, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, multiple abscessed teeth, pneumonia, chronic bronchitis, and on and on and on.

Don’t even get me started on her demands for HUGE sums of money to fund various plastic surgery procedures, elaborate dental work, and a new wardrobe for an upcoming wedding.

She was known to smoke in bed (yes, she is a devoted smoker despite her many many respiratory ailments) and fall asleep with almost no warning due to her medication. Miraculously (or unfortunately, depending on your point of view) she never burnt the house to the ground.
After all of this, the Monster-in-Law sued Mr. Smith. We spend enormous amounts of money and tears fighting a frivolous lawsuit for over two years.

By the time I met my Mr. Smith, my future father-in-law was a burned out alcoholic shell of a man. Used up, robbed, abused, lied to, and thrown away.

All of this background to explain the call we got yesterday.

It was a frantic voicemail message from my hapless, helpless, hopeless father-in-law. He was obviously distraught about the “bad news about your mother,” so my Mr. Smith called him right back.

I won’t lie about this. I am happy when bad things happen t
o the Monster-in-Law. No one deserves strife more, in my opinion.

I’m sorry. I know that it is wrong to think such things, but damn, I can’t stop myself.

Apparently, the picture of health ignored the warnings of her landlords regarding the electricity being off, threw caution to the wind, took the stairs instead of the elevator (you know, because she is VERY busy and important and had places to be and people to sue) and fell down said stairs.

Result: she broke her ankle.

Prediction: her landlords better have a pretty vicious legal council that is ready and willing to go to the mattresses, because I can guaran-damn-tee you that she will be suing them out the proverbial bung hole.

Here’s the craziest part: remember my hapless, helpless, hopeless father-in-law? He is actually distraught (shaking voice, barely holding back tears) that this worthless piece of human refuse is injured. He is so upset that his first thought is to contact his son and daughter-in-law (who were sued into financial oblivion by this animal) to let us know about her hardship so that we can worry about her too.

Anyway, she is confined to a wheelchair for 6-8 weeks. Honestly, it couldn’t happen to a nicer gal!

Once again, I will be honest. I was disappointed she didn’t fall head first.

The flames of hell are lapping at my ass as I type this.

I feel so much better, don’t you?

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