Written by Elana O'Loskey | 21 August 2007
Posted in Articles - Internet

I closed the lid of the washer and sat down to page through Reader’s Digest. It was the only magazine my mother-in-law would read and it beat the hell out of talking to her. Pretending I didn’t hear the crystal bell she was ringing, I honed in on an article entitled “How To Talk To Your Relatives.” Maybe it could help, I lied to myself.

The article recommended using “I” statements such as “I notice you never smile, Clarissa. Is something wrong?” That got a chuckle out of me, since the only smile I ever noticed on my mother-in-law’s face reminded me of Katherine Hepburn in Long Day’s Journey Into Night. In fact, Clarissa’s smile was so diabolical I could never dream of trusting it to express a simple emotion like, “Happy to see you Barbara.”

The crystal bell was really tinkling now. Transferring the bedclothes from the front loading washer to the dryer, I scanned the magazine for other titles of interest. “If you have been exposed to environmental toxins such as paint thinner, add a box of baking soda to the next bath you take and stay in the hot water for at least an hour.” Well, that was interesting. Since I had a painting project in mind, which required removing very old oil-based paint from woodwork, that might do the trick.

From the window in the laundry room I could see Clarissa sitting up in her bed waving her crystal bell. Deciding to take the bull by the horns, I strode across the lawn and knocked on the glass French doors. Clarissa jumped three feet in the air when she heard my knock. Before she could say a word, “I” statements flooded from my mouth. “I wouldn’t use that bell one more time, Clarissa, or you’ll find it in the garbage can. I am, as you know, washing your bedclothes. I cannot be in two places at once, nor do I want to be. I will now return to the laundry and I expect to hear absolutely nothing from you. I know you are a resourceful woman, and will be able to amuse yourself until I am through.”

Without waiting for the astonishment to fade from Clarissa’s face, I swaggered back to the laundry room, eager to read up on how to keep moths from my woolens. It was worth whatever hell Clarissa would raise later on for these few minutes of silence. Not to mention the feeling of inner satisfaction at stopping her rude behavior.

The Reader’s Digest wasn’t so bad, after all.

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