Why I Hate Russian Women

This last weekend we traveled to Dallas to celebrate both my mom's and my MIL's birthdays. For her birthday, my MIL decided that she wanted professional pictures done of the family. If you'll remember, dear reader, we just HAD professional pictures taken of the family. Here. At baby girl's birthday. One of which we had framed and gave to her as a birthday present. 6 weeks ago. Have we really all changed so much in 6 weeks that we need to redocument this time in our lives? No? Well, the only reasonable explanation that is left is that she thought the pictures WE arranged to have done were not good enough. (Eff you #1.)

For this second round of professional pictures, we had to get matching outfits. Not coordinating outfits, as is the newest trend in family shots. Matching outfits. I'm sure it doesn't take too much mental exertion to figure out that she was thinking the old-school "white shirts and blue jeans" look. Fine. Whatev. It's her birthday, right? That's what I thought, that is, until I went shopping for a white shirt. It was at the store that my train of thought turned more along the lines of "Who the fuck's idea was it to put the 'Is she fat or is she pregnant??' girl in a WHITE shirt for cheesy studio shots, anyway??" Of all the colors of the rainbow that I should NOT be wearing right now, white tops the list. But of course there was no consideration given for that, seeing as how it was her birthday and this was what she wanted. (Eff you #2.)

After the photo shoot, which I did manage to smile through, thankyouverymuch, we had a birthday dinner. One of my MIL's Russian friends joined us. She walks in, we are introduced, and she starts in with the small pleasantries. "So, when are you due?" she asks me. Ignoring the fact that the news was not supposed to have been shared yet, I smile and say "End of May." "Really??" she responds, incredulously. "Well, I guess you do show sooner with your second pregnancy." (Eff you #3.)

Super-awesome-Russian-guest-lady then follows her stunning intro with, "My daughter-in-law is due only a week after you, at the beginning of June. She's not showing yet, but she's very skinny." (Eff you #4.) 

I'm pretty sure TH saw the die-bitch-die lightening bolts shooting out of my eyes, because he quickly steered the super-awesome-Russian-guest-lady into a separate conversation, and then proceeded to tell me the rest of the weekend how much he appreciated me, how beautiful I am, how sweet I was to put up with his family, and on and on and on.

I have no witty ending, no nice conclusion to wrap this all up. I hate Russian women.