mil – (en)

MOTHER_IN_LAW_Dugutigui_Blog_0
Since childhood I’ve always told the truth. I’ve been a sincere guy. But for some time I realize this is wrong. Since I got married to be precise. Like a cuttlefish spurting out black ink I’ve become socially insincere. And when you aren’t sincere you need to pretend, and by pretending you end up believing yourself; that’s the basic principle of every faith.
Let me elaborate it. If there was a nuclear war, it would still leave radioactive cockroaches and a meddling, snooping, complaining and controlling female entity called MIL.
Allow me introduce you to my mother-in-law: Mrs. Hope –suitably, the last thing you lose. Like a Canada goose she migrates every year between the north and the south. So here she’s for week-long visit… and I’d have to call an exorcist and bathe myself in holy water to get my home rid of the evil presence that she leaves behind (if I pour the holy water on her she may melt…) But … this day, unlike in the past, I won’t dare to verbalize it.
So…
MOTHER_IN_LAW_Dugutigui_Blog_1
I opened the door and there she was in full swing: sharp horns and a shiny halo. With my best grin –a combination of Brad Pitt’s and Prince William’s catch, I managed, “Glad to see you! You look great!” I’m not at all glad to see her and definitely she doesn’t look great. In India they’d consider her sacred, and in England a disease. But if you want to stay alive, you have to say that stuff, though. She fixed me with a hawk eye and I didn’t get clear her response, but I though I saw slime oozing from the festering pustules on her face … I have less chance than an ice cube in hell.
Nevertheless she brought a gift that she handed to me abruptly, as with little conviction that I was worthy of it. Some sneakers! Not an Air Jordan. No. These shoes were the ones you find in a big box in the store that is like the mass grave of sneakers, and it’s like nightclubs at eight in the morning, all loose pairs. They were size 45 … I use the 41 … She said it will be okay with some cotton … I profusely thanked her.
After Patton finished supervising everything –clarifying, “I do not want to criticize,” and, “I have nothing against your husband,” she decided she wants to prepare us a nice dinner. Let me tell ya, I would rather have a chainsaw enema, than have dinner with her, but you gotta pay attention to signs –how often has the direction of your life been shaped by such misunderstandings? “That’s a wonderful idea,” I grinned.
“Darling will you take my mother out to the grocery?” asked my already anxious significant other. “Yes, sure!” I was going to take the dog for a walk anyway…
Driving her to the store was the gross five minutes of my life. I haven’t spoken to her. We haven’t quarreled. I just don’t want to interrupt her monologue -it was as clever as a stick in a bucket of pig swill. Like a shadow I ingratiatingly nodded when she nodded … almost nodding off. I was thinking that English Law prohibits a man from marrying his mother-in-law. This is their idea of useless legislation!
Back at home, the opulent dinner consisted of pea soup and a steak. I tried the soup and wondered how a simple food like a pea could be manipulated to taste so bad. I mean, I thought it, but didn’t say. Instead, with a wax museum smile, I pointed, “Mom, you’ve outdone yourself! Yummy! … I don’t take more because it got cold. No! No! Don’t heat it. Thank you! The steak on other hand… At first bite I got paler than a vampire’s armpit. It was … a brown brick. Even the smoke alarm seemed to be cheering her on! In brief, an endless hour on the table and I was still hungry.
Well … I wasn’t going to socially kill myself that night. You can’t say today that you prefer three thousand people die in a tsunami in another hemisphere to have flu. You can’t tell that. What a wretch, what a human waste! But then … you don’t know them! Who’re that people? … And flu is seven days in bed, fucked, with boogers. It can even turn into bronchitis! Better another three thousand buy the farm!
Well, what I mean is that sincerity does not go anywhere. You must know that.
Course. Before I go I want to tell you I’ve never had more friendly, loving, cordial, and endearing followers than you!

.

MIL – By Dugutigui

About Dugutigui

In the “Diula” language in Mali, the term « dugutigui » (chief of the village), literally translated, means: «owner of the village»; «dugu» means village and «tigui», owner. Probably the term is the result of the contraction of «dugu kuntigui» (literally: chief of the village).
This entry was posted in English, Humor, Politically Incorrect Language, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to mil – (en)

  1. FLYNN says:

    Reblogged this on The Daily Pause and commented:
    Great blog! As always, y’all are welcome back to the greener side of the fence full of single folks like me/us.

  2. ACK — sounds like a long, gruesome visit.😀

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s