In the long list of things Stephanie Doesn’t Like to Talk About (mainly because this particular topic infuriates her so)…
Setting the wayback machine for Spring 2004
*wavy lines signifying time travel*
I’m planning my wedding.
Our parents have decided that they’re going to split the cost of the reception and thanks to my college fund, Steve and I are able to pick up a number of other wedding related expenses.
The call comes when Dad and I discuss who shall be invited from his side of the family.
Let it be known across the land that I have never been close to Dad’s side.
Sure, I went to visit his brother in California, but it’s not like we’re sending each other photos and emails…
His younger sister (Herein refered to as The Most Evil Aunt) used to babysit me. She’d make fun of my speech impediment and for not knowing words that weren’t in a 6-year-olds vocabulary (“Are you and Mindy bosom buddies?!”). And in an instance that is too weird not to be true, she sat me down in her guest room and insisted I hot glue tacky decorations for her craft business… a mini-sweatshop if you would.
His older brother (a lawyer) finagled a way to screw Dad’s share of grandma’s will.
His older sister would mock me in front of the family, asking me to read junk mail to prove that I could in fact read.
Don’t even get me started on Dad’s mom.
Dad is insistent that I invite his family to the wedding.
“Dad. I do not want them there [at the wedding].”
“Stephanie, I am paying for half of it and if I would like my family invited, I think they should be invited.”
“I don’t like them.”
“It’s a wedding reception, not a fucking picnic.”
Eventually, I relented and agreed to send out invitations to his jerk family.
The brother in Cali couldn’t make it, but sent me the Pier 1 kitchen table I registered for.
The Lawyer couldn’t make it, but sent a gift.
The evil sisters RSVP’d that they would be attending (The Most Evil Aunt +2 kids and a husband, Evil Aunt + husband).
When the time came to put together the seating arrangements, I made sure that Dad’s family was seated at Table 9… you HAVE seen “The Wedding Singer”, right?
The week of the wedding arrives and I’ve decided that I’m going to extend the olive branch one last time.
I went to the hotels in the area that I listed for out-of-towners to drop off welcome baskets of wine, snacks, etc.
However… there’s no one with any of Dad’s family at any of the hotels… nor, does anyone with that name have reservations.
Thursday before the wedding, Dad is sitting at my kitchen table.
The Most Evil Aunt EMAILED him to tell him that they were no longer coming to the wedding. Not only were they not coming, the evil aunt was not coming either.
In a fit unseen by the East Coast (until that Saturday, “You get to the store, you get a shirt and a fitting tuxedo, I AM GETTING MARRIED IN FOUR HOURS!”) I told Dad in no uncertain terms that I was done with his family and I do not and will not have anything else to do with them.
*Tunnel vision transporting us back to today*
I log onto facebook.
“OH! A friend request! *click* ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?! HAHHAHAHHAHA. Denied.”
The Most Evil Aunt wanted to be Facebook friends.
And I said no.
AND IT FELT GREAT.