F finally received his Greencard on July 3rd 2013. While he was in the immigration office I was forced to wait with his parents and Oliver. His dad went to sleep in the car while his mom and I settled in at a cafe. Guys, two hours alone with my mother-in-law. Shit was weird.
The conversation started with her trying to bribe me. Francesco’s hours have been cut at work and he told his parents that he’d have to start looking for a new job soon. “If you move to Cassino near us, we will buy you an apartment. A really nice apartment. I think you guys would like it there.” About as much as I would like to drink gasoline. I told her that we’d most likely have to move out of Italy where she refuted and said that there are “plenty of jobs in Milan. Make him apply in Milan! The problem with him is you don’t yell enough! Yell and yell until he finally does what you want!” I tried to tell her that he doesn’t work like that and if you yell at him he’s just an epic asshole. “So, then, tell him that you won’t have sex with him until he does what you tell him.” Then things got even more awkward.
Her: Francesco is really passive. He’ll do whatever women tell him to do.
Me: That’s not true actually. Sorry, but your son is kind of an insane woman hater and he is kind of an asshole.
Her: My son? No. He’s not mean with women.
Me: Yes he was. He’s polite, but only to avoid problems. He’s in general a total selfish jackass who does whatever he wants. He’s certainly not a puppy.
Her: No, I think you believe that because you’re not Italian and you think that things like men not helping in the kitchen and men looking at other women is mean.
Me: True. But that’s actually not what I’m talking about. And no, it’s not okay for men to look at other women if it bugs the woman.
Her: It’s fine for men to talk about having sex with other women and to look at other women but it’s not okay for women to do that.
Me: I disagree. I don’t think anyone should do it if the other person is uncomfortable.
Her: No. You have to protect the man’s pride.
Me: Sorry, what? Because I don’t have pride? If I catch Francesco talking about another woman’s ass I’ll slap the shit out of him. Trust me, I have pride. He doesn’t have more feelings than me because he has a penis.
Her: I remember Francesco with his other girlfriends. Maybe you say he was mean because with his ex-girlfriend, the spanish one, he didn’t translate the dialect for her. [Why are we talking about this, lady?]
Me: Uhm. That girl was a bucky-toothed dipshit who he cheated on weekly for their entire relationship. I wouldn’t consider her a real girlfriend, although, I guess that is a great example of how he is with women.
Her: My son? He wouldn’t do that.
Me: Your son had sex with A LOT of women, most of them while he was dating her. He’s a bastard.
Her: He wouldn’t have sex with someone while he is with you.
Me: I agree but mostly because I think he knows I would have him killed.
Her: Va bene. Well, with his first girlfriend it wasn’t that way.
Me: [The fuck dude?] They were bad together. So it doesn’t matter. I’m sure she was a nice girl but I’m not that interested in talking about her. Also, F was like a baby when he dated her. And from what I heard they had a really bad and unstable relationship. It’s good that they broke up.
Her: He was nice with her.
Me: He was a teenager. Since then he’s not like that and in fact it’s kind of gross how he was. I mean, super gross. He really used a lot of women for sex and he wasn’t nice about it. He really hates women. He has no respect for them.
Her: WELL HE COULD GET A DISEASE!
Me: Well, I’m sure he used condoms.
Her: Another thing is that he’s too closed. He’s too closed. He doesn’t tell me anything. For example when he broke up with his first girlfriend I found out through her mother. He never talks about work or his friends or you or his life. I don’t know anything about my own son. Either he’s empty or he just refuses to talk. I don’t believe that he’s empty, but he only says superficial things to me.
Yes. Well, this is a problem he has with everyone. He’s very closed. It’s something he’s working on. He’s getting better I think.
Her: Well, whatever, His first girlfriend, when he was a teenager, that relationship was really heavy. She was always making him go to museums and stuff (and then she went on to tell me about the relationship for ten minutes. I wanted to flip the table over).
Me: Again, it was a long time ago. Also, F really likes museums and the ballet etc. Nobody makes him like stuff he just likes it. Trust me, there is a lot of stuff that I like that he hates. And there is a lot of stuff that he’s done that’s not exceptionally nice to me. He’s not as innocent and sweet as most people think he is.
Her: Well, whatever. He loves you though. I don’t think he would do something now.
Me: Oh, I agree.
Her: Men are never perfect. You can’t find a perfect one you just have to find one that is okay and then mold them.
Me: I disagree. I don’t think you can change people. Francesco is a pain in the ass but he is perfect for me. Our relationship despite a lot of things is really good.
Her: Well, whatever. I have this one…[gestures towards husband in car].
Me: Are you happy?
Her: I don’t know. Now more than usual.
Her: You should sell your dog. He’s too difficult.
Me: Uhm, no. If he’s difficult it’s our problem, not his. When we adopted him we made a twenty year commitment and that’s it.
Me: Shit. I need to send wedding hair pictures to Damiano (my hair guy).
Her: I’ll send the ones that I have in the computer. (pictures that someone took with their Iphone)
Me: Uhm. No. Send our actual wedding photos. They’re much better.
Her: I don’t like the wedding photos. I don’t look good in any of them.
Me: Our wedding photos are really nice. Our photographer did a great job. Everyone loved her.
Her: Va bo (kind of like, “whatever”). Your face looks dirty. We have to take you to get those sun spots laser removed.
Me: Uhm. Okay.
Her: You need to wear sunscreen.
Her: I don’t like your hair long. I really don’t understand why you don’t cut it short. I liked it much better when it was short.
Me: Cool. Noted. But no.
Her: Va bene allora.
Then Francesco came walking up waiving a paper in his hand. “I got it babe!” he said. And I was all, “get me out of here!” Then I told him everything and I was scared he was going to get mad at me, for, ya know, telling his mom that he’s a dirtbag.
“Good,” he said, “don’t just let her say whatever she wants. Argue with her.” He smiled.
“But I totally told your mom that you used to sleep around a lot.”
“Well, I did. And I’m not how she thinks I am. So, if she wants to make her weird assumptions about me she can deal with the reality of it. Not our problem.”
“Yeah. Alright. Well, for me it’s better that she really knows you than assuming that I’m controlling your life. I WISH I controlled your life.”
“I don’t. You’re a dick. My life would be miserable.”
And in light of the Greencard. This song has been in my head for a week now.