Green Beans and Mothers-in-Law

Image via Wikipedia

Name a food you used to like, but now avoid – what changed?

Green beans – my mother-in-law. 

I used to stay at the Hub’s home every weekend when we were courting.  His mother, being northern, made a traditional roast dinner every Sunday.  The first time I stayed over, of the vegetables she had in, I only liked green beans, so that’s what I got.  Every Sunday for three years.  No other vegetables, despite what everyone else had. 

It was my own fault: I was too timid in those days – really! – to say that I liked other things, so I ate them and ate them and ate them and from the day I got married (26 years ago), I never ate another one.

Now I have a different problem: I learned to speak up for myself and, when people ask me what I want, I tell them.  I wouldn’t say I was Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally:

Sally Albright: But I’d like the pie heated and I don’t want the ice cream on top, I want it on the side, and I’d like strawberry instead of vanilla if you have it, if not then no ice cream just whipped cream but only if it’s real; if it’s out of the can then nothing.
Waitress: Not even the pie?
Sally Albright: No, I want the pie, but then not heated.

but if you ask me how I like my tea (if it’s Earl Grey: black, not too strong; if it’s ordinary: medium strength, with milk, not too much) I’ll tell you.  And I admit, if I don’t like it, I won’t drink it.

If you don’t like that, then blame my mother-in-law.*

*Don’t you dare say a mean thing about her; I loved her, in spite of her green bean fetish.

*

Happy Mother’s Day, Mums

It’s Mother’s Day here in the UK.  I have been fortunate to have two great Mums: my own, a warm and generous woman, who, in spite of our difficult relationship, never loved me with anything less than her whole heart, and always let me know it; and my Mum-in-law (Mam), a warm and generous woman, who treated me like a daughter and always showed me she loved me too.

If you’d like to read about my own experience of Mother’s Day today, in which I show my love by berating my boys, head on over to my other blog.

Manners Maketh The Blog

Image via Wikipedia

If it’s all right with my Blog Director and his cronies out in the readerverse, I’m going to tell you where the prompt for this post came from: Viewfromtheside’s Blog.  It’s the polite thing to do, even though you don’t like it because it interferes with my ‘great literary style’ or something (see below for the quote’s source).  I am going to post a link there to my blog for others to read this post, so I have to return the favour; something about it being ‘good manners’.

Which, if you haven’t worked it out yet, doofusii, is the prompt.  See how I turned a fun but abusive word into Latin?  That way I get to revile you and make you laugh at the same time.  Read and learn, people.

By the way, if you haven’t already worked it out, it’s only polite to tell you that I have my frivolous head on this morning.

Naturally, the thought of writing about manners has made me all rude, hence the insults flying across the ether.  What is it about the mention of social restraints that makes us lose them?  

I don’t know and I don’t really care.  Oh no, there I go again (just put that last bit in for etiquette’s sake; you can tell by the lack of inflection).

I have rather good manners: I eat with my mouth closed, send thank you notes for wonderful quilt gifts, and only break wind in front of my closest relatives.  I have passed on those traits to my children; but did they thank me for it?  Nooooo.  I blame the parents.

Talking of quilts, that reminds me of Tory Boy (not as tenuous a link as you might think…a blanket and a wet blanket*).  On the phone yesterday he told me he thought the quilt was ‘immense’.  ‘No,’ I replied, ‘it’s a bit smaller than a duvet.’  Once he had stopped laughing, he explained that ‘immense’ was the new word for ‘wicked’.  ‘There’s nothing wicked about Viv,’ was my indignant reply.  ‘No, no.  The quilt is vicious…mean…bad…evil….’  He gave up.

I think the best way to show you good manners is to share some examples and then invite comments on them.  This has the bonus of allowing me to gather together random things I found interesting, under a loose theme; and upping my comment stats while looking nice doing it.  See how good manners make everyone a winner?  

Crossing The Floor:

This is one of my pet peeves.  Three members of our Lib-Dem council, irritated by the coalition government’s cuts – cue mutters of ‘snotwhatwesignedupfor – have resigned their party membership, signed up to Labour, and are now serving as independents.  Talk about eating your cake and having it too – and everyone else’s.  I think it is dreadfully rude to be elected as a member of one party and then join another.  Most voters elect a party, not a candidate.  As far as I’m concerned, the law should be changed so that, if you resign from the party, an election must be called and the voters will let you know what they think of you trashing their ballot.

What do you think?  Status quo or status quosh?

Saving A Life:

The height of good manners, I feel.  Seven strangers linked arms across a flooded bridge in South Africa to save the life of a woman and her child.  The woman had rudely ignored a warning from one of the men that the bridge was too dangerous to drive across and endangered his life, because he couldn’t swim yet helped save her.  What a hero.  What a stupid woman.

What do you think?  Was Driving Miss Crazy right to selfishly endanger the life of her child and seven others?

Grounds For Divorce:

An Italian man took his mother along on his honeymoon.  The bride found out at the airport.  I loved my own mum-in-law but I’m with the bride on this one. 

What do you think?  Was she right to be miffed or was it a little bit rude to let her m-i-l know in such a dramatic fashion – I’m abandoning your son because of you – that she didn’t like her?  As for the son – didn’t his mother ever tell him that it’s nice to asked?

Lovely Daughters:

This one I love.  Musing’s daughter is snowed in, in Chicago.  She sent before pictures.  Dad mentioned it would have been nice to see pictures of the after three hours of snow shovelling.  Tired child obliged.  You don’t get better-mannered than that.  Kay, you have a lovely daughter.

What do you think?  All opinions published so long as they coincide with mine.

Did I write that out loud?  Please forgive my discourtesy.  But don’t think I don’t mean it: I may be polite but there’s a streak of iron under this velvet blog.

*

 

Tilly Bud has great literary style.  Source: me.

*Sorry darling; sometimes I can’t help myself.  Think of the gammon roast and find it in your heart to forgive me.