Christmas with Bitch Eating Crumpets: Angry Mashed Potatoes

My MIL is British, as is D(ear)H, while I am American. DH and I live in America, and MIL spends all her holidays figuring out how to give us BRITISH gifts. BRITISH MADE. BRITISH DESIGNED. THINGS THAT SAY BRITAIN BECAUSE RULE BRITANNIA.

Therefore, we shall call her Bitch Eating Crumpets, because bitch never passes up a chance to be British.

I know I mentioned how my MIL is trying to stay with us soon, but that story thread is at a stand-still and I don't really want to post about it until it starts moving again.

Instead, in honor of my husband flaring my anxiety by bringing up Christmas plans, let me tell you the story of the moment I first saw Bitch Eating Crumpets' hatred towards me: aka our first Christmas together.

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DH and I met in Asia, where we both lived and worked. After a year of dating, we decided that we should meet each other's families. Of course we'd met on Skype--him and my parents many times, me and his mother once or twice--but we should do it in person. And as the only time we had off for the next few months was Christmas, that's when we'd do it. A round the world tour! Four days at his parents' houses, four at mine, home in time for New Years Day and the work week.

We were young and stupid, what can I say.

Our first stop after over twenty-four hours of travel was Britain. The arrival basically set the tone. DH did not quite know how to introduce me to his family at the airport, and I sort of stood there awkwardly with our luggage while he hugged them. But we got it sorted eventually and headed back to the family abode. All would be well, yes?

At first, it was. DH has two sisters and a brother, all adults, but all of whom were staying with the family for the holiday. In the evenings we all played poker and watched Christmas movies, while DH and I visited local tourist sights during the day. It was always awkward at his parents' house, and I can't say I was comfortable, but if they weren't super welcoming, I put it down to British reserve, stiff upper lip, whatever. I'd never been to Britain before and most of the Brits I knew had lived in the States 10+ years and had caught our un-ending friendliness. Maybe this was normal.

Of course, now I know better. Bitch Eating Crumpets was still in her "evaluation" stage and hadn't given marching orders yet. Was I friend? Foe? Her children and husband didn't know, so I was being treated with cautious reserve until they knew whether to be nice to me or not. Ahh, the joys of a troupe of flying monkeys.

Then came Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve is a big deal in my family. We have a party, buckets of food and drink, etc. DH's family just treats it as another day, so DH and I had gone sight-seeing and then came in with enough time to help with dinner. It was going to be something and mashed potatoes. I don't remember what; the only thing that matters is those damn potatoes. I love mashed potatoes, and I make them fairly often. DH also loves my mashed potatoes. So what did that man do when he found out his mother would be making them for dinner?

"Oh, Mum, you should let Culturaldiff make the mashed potatoes! Culturaldiff makes the best mashed potatoes."

Her eyes narrowed. My heart stopped.

I protested that my mashed potatoes were nothing. They were not that exciting. Of course DH thought they were special, but he'd been living in Asia for ages, where there were none. He'd like nothing better than his mother's mashed potatoes. I couldn't make them. I'd wash dishes.

Too. Fucking. Late.

Bitch Eating Crumpets got out potatoes, handed me a mixer, and asked me what else I needed. That precipitated a trip to the store, which she sent FIL on. Never mind my protesting that I'd do without the ingredient; DH merrily and obliviously shushed me, saying it was no trouble.

When they returned, I made those mashed potatoes. DH praised them lavishly at dinner and asked his family if they liked them, which they agreed they did with cautious sincerity, and Crumpets did loudly with the key phrase she uses when she actually hates something, pronounced very carefully, with absolutely no trace of pleasure or sincerity:

“Very nice.”

DH was delighted with himself, and confused when that evening I buried my head in the pillow and told him to never, ever, do that again. What was wrong with it?

Years later, I told that story to my own mother and SIL, and when I got to the part where DH made his pronouncement, they both turned to him in absolute horror. "You said what? Oh no!" He replied abashedly that he really did think he'd be doing me a favor, telling his mother that I was a good cook. Both my mother and SIL exclaimed "NO!" at the same time. SIL put her head on the table while my mother explained why this was a bad idea under regular circumstances, let alone those.

Thus began a relationship of passive-aggressive hatred between Crumpets and me that has lasted four years and counting. I know in my heart of hearts that Bitch Eating Crumpets would always have loathed me, because I'm not British, not a flying monkey, and I married her son. But sometimes, when I see the florescent lights of an airport lounge, I wonder if it would have happened so soon.

Eh, who am I kidding. I'm not a registered member of the Labour party. I'd've been trash by the end of the Christmas Day political grilling.

Bonus One: The gifts

I don't remember all of my gifts from DH's mother, but she isn't Crumpets for nothing. The highlights were a plaid wool purse from local retailer, wooley gloves from local sheep breed, a calendar of local breed of cows, various British candies that can't be got in the US, a bottle of local cider, and Cath Kidston stuff. She was noticeably annoyed when I recognized the last one, as I love me some Cath Kidston merch. I'm not British! I wasn't supposed to know about that! Cue no more Cath Kidston gifts for me, despite the mound of stuff she sends every frikkin holiday.

I...actually never noticed that thing about Cath Kidston until I wrote that just now. wth.

Bonus Two: The potatoes

Scrub potatoes. Do not peel. Chop into smallish pieces. Boil. Drain. Mash. Salt. Add sour cream/plain yogurt/Greek yogurt. Add butter. Mix. Voila. Shock and amaze your family.