Does Everything Have to Revolve Around You?

I have made my observations about you long enough.  I have kept my quiet long enough.  But now, you have officially won yourself an entry in my blog.  Congratulations.  Like the celebrity wannabes would say, bad publicity is better than no publicity.  But I don't think an entry about you here would affect or change the way you are.  You are already 45.  For god's sake, grow up!

You are worse than a 5-year-old.  You don't say thank you for the meals you eat here, I am not even obliged to make your meals in the first place.  When you eat with my family, which I consider an intrusion of our privacy, you should be polite enough to blend in and let us hold small talks about our daily happenings.  Instead, you take over the table and use it as a stage to make your performance.  My smiles and nods, sometimes a question and/or comment or two, are but only entertaining you.  I am not interested in the things you say, not a least bit, like you are not mine.  However, this is my family, you are the outsider.  You don't try to take centrestage.  It is just socially wrong.

It had to take Christophe a few times to teach you to say thank you, when to say it and say it loud enough.  More times than an average child would take.  Because after several outright ways of role-modelling, you still didn't get it.  Not even when the kids say their thanks at the table before the start of the meal, in your presence.  And you know my children are audible, you are also not hearing-impaired.  I must commend you on your good performance on expressing your "danke" loud enough recently.  Good job!  Well done!  Finally!  You might feel some form of sarcasm here, you are right, it is expressly meant to be.

When I entered the guest room after you woke up from your nap yesterday, I was appalled to see the blanket that I offered you unfolded.  Bed not made.  Do you think I am your mother?!  Cook for you and even have to make the bed for you?!  Of course, you had to make up the bed, after I complained to Christophe.  I wonder if your brain connections sometimes lead you to experience the warm flushes of embarrassment.  I know the connections won't ever arrive at the destination called, "I am sorry", because it is non-existent.

Talking about flushes.  For someone who is perpetually studying in the university, and considered extremely knowledgeable, do you not know how to use a toilet brush to scrub off the stubborn remains of your faeces along with the flush?  Obviously not, I began counting the number of times you flushed after the third time.  Then I heard you pulled a lot of toilet papers, twice, I supposed you used them to wipe off those bodily excrement that got caught on the toilet bowl during the process of expulsion.  Gosh, I can be crude in my description.  Even Christophe heard the flush from the basement.  It was a total count of five.  Christophe later told me you didn't know how to use this type of toilet bowl.  What a bull-shitty lame excuse for your intelligence, or the lack of it.

I got a kick yesterday when you were halted by Christophe, with a slight didn't-you-realise-what-is-happening side glare, "wait, my son is talking to me", when you rudely cut into his question to his daddy.  Ludwig had been patiently waiting for his turn to speak to his daddy at our dinner table, the only time once a day we spend as a family.  Each time he saw a pause and thought that you have finished, he attempted, "papa...", you just unabashedly carried on to the next thing in your mind.  When you were processing the food in your mouth, the only time you don't talk, Ludwig saw the chance again and tried.  This time, he managed to get a few more words out.  But of course, the moment the food went down your pipe, you just had to snatch Ludwig's airtime away and interrupt the poor boy.  Ludwig looked at me and let out a sigh resignedly.  Before I was about to ask you if you had realised what you just did, Christophe stopped you.  You didn't see my triumphant smile forming on my face because I battled with it to keep it from showing too much.  Christophe and I stole a look at each other.  Of course, for someone who naively assumes the world revolves around him, you would have never noticed why you have to wait for your turn.  It is amazing.

Christophe told me your mom had to remind you to switch off the light, close the door, etc. when he was at your house.  Reminders by your poor, old mom.

Give me my four boys anytime.  God certainly has a way to show me how fortunate I am for the children he has chosen for and blessed me with.  I am glad I am not your mom.

I hope he too, would bless you with a wife and children.  Soon.