3 October 2013


My relationships with 'in-laws' began around 20 years ago when my older brother started dating a girl who I assumed was completely bonkers.  I could think of no sane person that would possibly find any of my brothers attractive, let alone attractive enough to be publicly associated with them.

Anyway, turned out all three of them over the years have managed to find highly intelligent, funny, kind, passionate, committed and attractive women to marry them. Including that first girl who was to set a very high benchmark for all future contenders wanting the 'in-law' badge. 

She does. But she doesn't ride it. 
I have a brother-in-law who is highly intelligent, funny, kind, committed and attractive too. But that makes more sense - my sisters have always been less smelly, less inclined to laugh at bodily functions and less 'testosterony'.

Marrying my beautiful man got me a highly intelligent, funny, kind, committed and attractive sister-in-law with a fabulous sense of the ridiculous, and a mother-in-law that has failed miserably at perpetuating the witchy bitchy stereotype in any way.  My father-in-law is also a lovely man and his son could do worse things than turn out like him. 

See my problem?

Yep. I have nothing whatsoever to bitch about.

I have no terrible tales.  They are providing me with absolutely NO material whatsoever to write obscure, meandering tales about how they are ruining my life, negatively influencing my children or turning my siblings into drug addicts or whores. 

I've read some cracking tales of lives ruined, fortunes lost and reputations destroyed by the dastardly machinations of in-laws.  People love those kind of stories, comments are attached to those blog posts in a torrent of 'AHA!', sharing further tales of woe, bitchiness, betrayal, and more.

Anything which gets people engaged makes a writer blissfully happy. 

And then I've got my bunch of perfectly lovely in-laws.

Bastards.  All of you.

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