I used to like that show, I really did. The lack of accountability occasionally made me crazy, but for the most part, it was a satisfying viewing experience.
No more. That guilty pleasure was snatched away from me.
See, my father-in-law reprimanded me for the fact that My Guy wrote the wrong house number on a letter he sent his dad.
I told him I don’t keep My Guy’s address book and he needed to take it up with his son.
He kept talking. To me. About the address.
I looked out the window.
He informed me that he didn’t receive his Father’s Day Lowe’s gift card in the mail because My Guy probably mailed it to the wrong address.
I looked out the window some more.
My sister-in-law asked her dad if he’d opened all of his mail. He had not. He produced two tubs full of unopened mail.
While my sister-in-law looked for the envelope from Lowe’s, my father-in-law regaled me with tales about how he is too tired after working in the garden every day to open his mail. His sister spent an entire day opening a years’ worth of his mail for him a few months ago.
I looked out the window even more and attempted not to levitate with frustration. Finally, I couldn’t take it. I turned my head, scanning the 3 family members digging through the mail, across the dusty living room with the piles of stuff, to look my father-in-law in the eye. “Since we’re looking through the mail now, can we throw some if it out? Some of the old grocery store ads, maybe?
My father-in-law gave me what I’m sure he considered a winning smile. “I would, but I’m too lazy.”