Monday, February 27, 2006
I have been enjoying my in-laws very much. It's a little draining that they are staying with us, but the trip has been mostly good. I feel like I always have to keep the guest bathroom super-clean (which is hard because it's really the kids' bathroom).
My mother-in-law is very liberal about buying things for the kids and me, which has been both wonderful and daunting. She has bought us clothing, accessories, and all kinds of fun, out-of-budget stuff. She surprised me with a Stila lipstick from Sephora. It was a color I liked on her, but I wasn't crazy about it on me. She told me to exchange it for what I wanted - so I bought a blush instead. I had a 20 dollar credit, can you imagine? 20 bucks for lipstick? Anyway, I felt like a princess. I never wore blush before. I even splurged and bought a contour brush. So I'm lookin' pretty foxy now, with my Sephora Lorac blush (Plum) and my Wal-Mart Maybelline lipstick (Rare Ruby).
The in-laws insist that I do not cook, so each night has been restaurant fare. This has been a slice of heaven, I can't begin to tell you. Tonight we went to this Israeli grill place, and that's when stuff got really weird. It was the in-laws, me, and my mom. Yaakov and the kids were too tired to go. Anyway, she asked the Israeli waitress; "What's on the chicken kebab?" And the waitress said, "spices." Somehow - and I'm not sure how this happened - my mother-in-law took this totally wrong. She thought the waitress was being rude to her. "What do you mean, "spices" - what KIND of spices? If you can't tell me, get someone who can." She really got weird and aggressive about it. "These Israelis are so rude," she declared. "All of them."
I felt very strange. Here's this woman who has been so loving and gracious to us, yet all of a sudden she's going postal on the waitress. I felt bad for the poor girl. But then I thought, "Maybe it's me. Maybe I misread the situation, and the waitress was rude to her." I spent the whole evening trying to placate my M.I.L. (because the incident didn't just end there - she was mad for the rest of the meal). I kept watching the waitress, hoping she'd go into the bathroom (so I could follow her and apologize for my shvigger's crankiness).
When we drove back to the house, I ended up walking my mom back to her car. "Mom, is it me, or did she get all huffy at the waitress over nothing?" "It's not you," answered Mom.