Mum's quest for grandkids
My mother wanted grandkids in the worst way, and since my only sibling died in 1991, it was all down to me. She'd continually coo at babies while we're out, and give me dirty looks like "get on the ball, mister!" I think she even hoped that I'd have a night of indiscretion and get some young lady "in trouble."

Years ago, I brought home a young woman (Annie, who I dated for several years) for the first time [see QOTW "Meeting the Parents"] not knowing that mom had indulged in a wee more than her fair share of wine. After awhile, Mom leaves the room and comes back with a picture I'd never seen before of two angels watching over a sleeping baby.

Teary-eyed, she said: "When I have grandkids" *sniff* "I'm going to hang this picture" *sniff* "over the crib BOO HOO HOO HOO!"

Annie's first words back in the car: "Oh my. No pressure there."

I made up for it though, I'm now married to a woman with four kids and a grandkid of our own, making my mother a great-grandmother. You asked for it, mumsey!
( setimret likes his metaphors mixed, not stirred, Fri 14 Oct 2005, 14:50, Reply)

Son, it's completely up to you
if you want to carry on posting your little 'messages'. Just because each one is like a dagger through my heart, shouldn't stop you.
I'll just sit here, in pain, on my own as usual.

Send no flowers
(Newton Crosby, Fri 14 Oct 2005, 14:38, Reply)

I'm being passive-aggressive right now, as it happens.
Me and my history class were promised a free lunch if we attended some university lectures on totalitarianism today. So we sat through the morning session (which I quite enjoyed) and when lunchbreak came around we went to the canteen. We said, we're from the college down the road, we were promised a free lunch. They said they hadn't heard about any free lunch and basically told us to fuck off.

So I've come home instead, and fuck their afternoon session.
( Reid got it going on like Donkey Kong, Fri 14 Oct 2005, 14:38, Reply)

An ex from a few years ago...
...had a level of skill with the 'passive' half of the phrase that I've never before seen. If I was out for a pint after work, or meeting up with friends (or even, once, my mother), she'd phone me and get me to call her back because she didn't have credit. The bar I was in never had good mobile reception, so I'd have to go out into the street and call her back.

At which point she'd sit silently on the phone, for a good five minutes at a time. When I'd say "oh - are you there? I can't hear you" she'd pipe up enough to keep me on the line, then give me another five minutes of silence.

She'd basically keep me standing around in the rain while she sulked remotely. On my bill.

What angers me the most is that, despite not putting up with this sort of thing, I let her get away with it for months.

I love SMS - "okay, YOU come back whenever you WANT, I'LL be just FINE" is instantly reduced to "okay, you come back whenever you want, I'll be just fine".
(Hairy, Fri 14 Oct 2005, 14:32, Reply)

passive-aggressive? moi?
i do it all the time with the bestial bed shitting boss. sit there in sulky silence or make a martyr of myself by doing everything for him but refusing to let him even buy me a diet coke. and it gets me absolutely nowhere. the moral of the story: the other person has to give a flying fuck for it to work. if they don't care, it won't wear!

edit - ok, i exaggerate. but i do sulk when he does something unacceptable. and sometimes it works. but still, don't try this at home kids...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 14 Oct 2005, 13:57, Reply)

Passive-aggressive?
My mother has elite ninja skills in this area. She partially sighted, had a stroke and is housebound. I'm the one who had to move back in to look after her. At age 38* I want to buy a place of my own. Every time I bring it up she just changes the subject. And she... never... ever... gives in. Or just comes out with it and says 'no.'

BTW, anyone know which poisons can't be detected in autopsies?


*sob
(Small Beer, Fri 14 Oct 2005, 13:54, Reply)

Women!
"Look not upon me with thine bulging, juicy eyes!" I pleaded. "The answer is 'NO!'" She shuffled a little where she sat, plaintively fingering the buttons of her coat. "Thy ruse of faux-pity shalt win no favour with this here fellow," I warned, sternly. Nevertheless, I was losing patience and I could sense cracks forming in my steely resolve. I vowed to myself that I would not surrender, but her silence was more powerful than a thousand screaming accusations. "Thou doth attempt to bestow guilt upon my conscience," I argued. "But my conscience has neither the capacity nor the reason to bear such weight. Thou art misguided and ought not to continue in this shameless fashion, for it shall be thine undoing. And thou shalt know this when my granite fist meets thy hard but fragile face."

At last, she broke her silence. "Sir, I understand. Do not worry thyself. It is wrong of me to expect anything from thee. After all, you pleasure me daily, watering my petals with thy warm, silky syrup and furnishing my soil with thy most abundant of seeds. I insert my nimble digits into thy tight man-quincy, suckle upon thy stubbly nips and kneel, cow-like, so that thou may indulge in untamed jimmynudgery, as is your wont. This I do day after day, week after week. I should be satisfied with my lot. I should not ask for more. I am but a selfish wench."

I looked around sheepishly. The street was busy and I did not want anyone to hear. She turned away. I sensed she was beginning to weep. Alas, she had done it again. I knew in my heart that I owed her nothing, but I was unable to respond with a cohesive argument. I crumbled and reached into my pocket. I gave her the money she wanted and took the document from her. "See you at dusk in the usual place," I said, and bade her farewell.

I walked away down the cracked pavement, and I knew I would not be the last to succumb to her sly, back-handed guilt-mongering as I heard her voice again, crying out to anyone who might hear as she plied her filthy, shameful trade: "Big Issue, please!"
(stusut79, Fri 14 Oct 2005, 13:34, Reply)

oh mothers....
i live in the uk with my wife and son. our families are from ze fatherland though.

... every F***ING time i have my (otherwise really lovely) mom on the phone it's the same dialogue:

mom: we never see our grandson. you live so far away.

me: but you just been here, like last week. and you'll be back in four weeks' time.

mom: $somefriend' daughter just had a beautiful son. and they live just around the corner.

me: well, good for them.

mom: but if only you lived aroud here. we could help you out.

me: but don't you read the news?? there are no jobs in germany. (thinking: and, even worse, it's full of germans who - believe it or not - are better at moaning than the brits) it takes you about 5 hours door to door by plane. would we live in - let's say - munich (thinking: where the jobs are, but unfortunately it's full of bavarians who are a distilled version of everything bad about germans) it'd take you longer.

mom: but it's different. it's another country.

me: sorry mom, it's 5.30am, i have to
go and put a towel on my deckchair...*

* may contain lies.

i really love my parents to bits, but this just pisses me off. especially as she continues to tell on different occasions me that her other friends have grandkids nearby and see them less often than we see each other.

grrrr....

must. invade. poland....
( bierbelly, Fri 14 Oct 2005, 13:31, Reply)

i haven't got a story of my own yet, but...

...the best story about guilt trip i've read so far was the end of filth by irvine welch.

(SPOILER, don't read on when you read it yourself)

it's been a while but i think it went something like this:

the protagonist decides to top himself by connecting a gun to the door so the trigger is pulled as soon as someone opens the door. he then puts on a t-shirt with 'it's all your fault' on it and calls his ex-wife to come around.

so he sits there with the gun in this mouth and
the last thing he sees is that it's his beloved daughter, not the wife who opens the door.

brilliant.

/at least i admit it's not my story.
( bierbelly, Fri 14 Oct 2005, 13:13, Reply)

Blabbermouth
I recently got a new job, but had to keep it under wraps until today. Unfortunately I was so chuffed I told my mum about the job and she told all her mates. One thing lead to another and it was splashed all over the papers yesterday, stealing the thunder from the official announcement.

Don't worry though, I'll take care of her. I think a daytrip in my specially modified Aston will do the job.
( huntersbar, Fri 14 Oct 2005, 13:10, Reply)

My Mum, new Grandmother
I had a baby 7 months ago. Dear little chap he is, too. My Mum has already started pointing out that if I don't have another, he'll turn into a lonely, bitter individual.
good grief...
(Elizabeth Duke at Argos, Fri 14 Oct 2005, 12:57, Reply)

How timely!
I had an operation a couple of weeks ago that meant I was in bed for a week recovering. During that time a couple of friends came over to see if I was ok but no sign of my mum or dad. I saw my mum last night and the first thing she said in a whiny tone was

'Why didn't you come and see me when you had the week off'
(Kazza , loathing myself so you don't have to, Fri 14 Oct 2005, 10:25, Reply)

3 words
Mother-In-Law
(ok, that's one hyphenated word. but i'm sure you catch my drift.)

When I had the kids i had no maid. i used towel nappies. my kids never got thrush. or nappy rash. and darren used to projectile vomit. and i never made colin lift a finger. and i travelled everywhere by bus. in the rain. by myself. and i had a ceasar. and with my 1st kid i never had painkillers. i never felt a thing. the twins never needed dummies. etc etc etc...
(formerly wierdcokechick is now a mom and hasnt touched any '2nd rate charlie' in months., Fri 14 Oct 2005, 9:48, Reply)

My Nan.
I visited her in hospital while she was suffering from a lung infection.

"I'm sorry, I'm not much company dear." She wheezed "Why don't you go."

I left and the rotten bitch died an hour later. Still, I got loads of cash from the will.
(Cane: I love Sushi, Sobriety & Shotokan, Fri 14 Oct 2005, 9:40, Reply)

Saturday night out
Last Saturday night, a well meaning cabbie with an obvious passion for white powder & banging on, was verbally molesting us in a club. After 15 minutes of extreme power talking he said to us
' You lads fancy a drink? Don't worry I've got £75 in my pocket, I'd love to take my kids out tomorrow, but what's money eh?'
(Old Banger, Fri 14 Oct 2005, 9:35, Reply)

The final straw
Mother had always been manipulative. "We didn't bring you up to be...". Where did I go wrong, I did well at school, good job, nice friends, no drugs, police or pregnant girlfriends.

It must have been I wouldn't let her take total control over my life. When I started work she wanted me to hand over my wages and she said she would give me pocket money ffs.

Her second finest moment was the first time I stayed out over night, bearing in mind I was in my twenties. I turned up next day about 12ish, my dad standing there, just got back from night shift looking tired and well nagged.

"Your mother was up all night worried sick, she didn't know where you were", she stood behind looking all hurt and upset.

"Oh right dad, so she didn't tell you about me ringing and trying to tell her where I was going, but she hung up half way through telling her? Anyway I'm going to bed".

I heard him giving her one or two choice words before I fell asleep.

When I was about 30 my dad rang me up to tell me she was not very well and was going to hospital for tests. A couple of weeks later he told me she had some form of leukaemia. He said she didn't want me to know because I would worry and it would affect my job, she never actually worried if I was ok it was always my job. So I said I would never mention it.

Anyways a couple of years later me and Mrs YC are visiting, bearing in mind I still "don't know". We were chatting about gas bills or something unimportant I've forgotten the details.

"You should change supplier you'll save money" I said.

"No we won't, we know what were doing"...

"I have, I'm saving £50 a year"

"No we won't"

"Mam don't be silly, you will trust me"

"You can't tell me what to do I've got leukaemia"... wtf... She then storms upstairs for a cry.

The wife then says "You've upset your mother". Knowing look between me and dad follows.

Next time she started the manipulative stuff I just said "you can stop that nonsense it's never going to work again", I think my dad actually looked quite proud. Or was it him thinking bugger I wish I'd thought of that.

I'm so glad I was adopted. Real mother is so much nicer.
(Yellow Car is now red, Fri 14 Oct 2005, 9:10, Reply)

E.T. stole my biscuit
I can't believe I'm about to admit this to you lot so I'd like to begin by saying that not only is this story totally true, but please don't judge me as an idiot, I was only four years old.

So, when I was four the usual Saturday morning routine was that our parents would leave me and my brother to our own devices while they would have an extra hour in bed, propped up with tea and biscuits reading the paper. Without fail I would come in every week, politely smiling and repeating the phrase "biccy plees". I'd then make a bee-line for the biscuit tin and, as soon as I grasped one in my grubby little mitt, something amazing would happen...

Suddenly a hand would appear from under the duvet, sticking out the side of the bed. The thumb would remain static while the rest of the fingers, as one, would bob up and down resembling a speaking mouth and, lo and behold, a voice would be heard.

"I'm E.T. Can I have a biscuit?"

Okay, laugh it up. See, I knew that was my dad's hand, and I definitely knew that it was his voice but, being four, you're not that confident in what you know is right or wrong. So, feeling a teeny bit guilty I turn my puppy dog eyes up to my father for reassurance. He puts on this hugely sad voice and, looking at his hand with utter dispair says "E.T. is really hungry, he only wants a biscuit."

No. He wanted MY biscuit and there's no way I'm falling for this. Then my mind pipes up with the following. 'What if we're wrong? What if it really is E.T.? After all we were wrong about that whole pooing-on-the-carpet-being-fine thing. E.T. looks really hungry. What if you don't give him your biscuit and he goes all white and crusty like in the film? That really made you cry. Oh no! What if he dies?'

By now my lip is quivering and the guilt is reaching epic proportions. Sniffing back the first of the inevitable tears I step forward and give my biscuit to E.T. He eagerly snatches it from my hand and disappears back into the bed to eat his biscuit in the privacy of the under-duvet area and I quickly leave the room so my parents don't see me crying. I was about to selfishly eat the biscuit and comdemn E.T. to certain death! I felt so horrible.



E.T. ate my sodding biscuit every Saturday for nearly two whole years.

I hate you E.T.

P.S. There is no truth to the rumour that one Saturday morning, when mummy was out, E.T. started being very naughty and touched me in the bathing suit area.

P.P.S. Should I be freaked out by the fact that my real life sounds like one of Stusut79's bizarre ramblings?

EDIT: I still fucking hate you E.T.
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Fri 14 Oct 2005, 9:00, Reply)

my mum is a tour operator...
for 'Guilt Trips'

Do i win a prize?
(well its not going to suck itself yadda yadda yadda, Fri 14 Oct 2005, 0:29, Reply)

passive-aggressive
My sister (who's not known for picking stable sane partners) found a genius looney in one of her recent relationships. He plied her with alcohol and drugs to keep her compliant, then said to me, "Come and visit". He then said if I tried to talk to talk to her, he'd shoot me with the shotgun under his bed.

Anyway, after a number of clandestine visits to the flat,and having rescued her from this situation, we found that he'd been threatening her with 2 sections of copper pipe gaffa taped to a fork handle. She still maintained she was threatened with a shot gun, but now, having shown her what a real shotgun looks like, she's now contrite. Crazy boy is now on remand
(born_sandy_devotional, Thu 13 Oct 2005, 23:47, Reply)

oh ho ho, i have one
my friend ran away from home when she was 16 and never went back. Her mother is why.

Apparently, many years ago her father (before divorcing her) had her evaluated by a psychologist, who told him she was a hopeless case. My friend recently had her mum diagnosed, and she has the same personality disorder as that kid who killed his parents then spent all their money. So you can sort of imagine what she's like.

If she isn't talking over everyone in the room, she's telling everyone what to do under her breath. If she isn't insisting on my friend taking her to buy new clothes every week, she's taking money out to hide it in her room then calling the police to accuse her family of stealing it. She once got hold of my brother's mobile number (whom she barely knows, nor related to) to insist there's someone in her garden. Being a good chap, he went over anyway despite her having bizarrely told him "I keep hearing people out there, it might be kids and they might rape me". It was a cat. She once had a fall, so my friend supplied her with a personal alarm. She refused to wear it because, she said, it rubbed against her neck - she fell over again two days later not wearing it and was stuck on the floor all day. When my friend turned up with an ambulance, the medic clocked her right off and left her down there for a bit whist telling his captive audience off.

Those are just a few. She is evil and, it must be said, generally hoped she'll cork it soon.

But then she is somewhat imbalanced.
(niceandwarmandhot vive la résistance, Thu 13 Oct 2005, 22:37, Reply)

i thought ...
i'd passive aggressive manipulate northernwifb3ta by saying that i had a GF who initally (late teens) made me jerk off in the loo before coming (ho ho) anywhere near her on sperm danger grounds ... always destined to fail and it did ... the catholic girl you want is the one who pisses on your cock then confesses ... there's a happy difference ... take some advice from an old bloke ... dump the crybaby*

* fucksocks, this is getting a bit teh therapeutic


ps: mind you, you might just be a shite shag
( writerblock ... embedding disabled by request on, Thu 13 Oct 2005, 22:30, Reply)

Women are masters of this..
I get this with my gf a lot.

She'll ask me to go buy her beer, or make her food, and generally I'll be happy to oblige. Occasionally, however, I can't be arsed.

This is where the puppydog eyes, the looking away quietly and not speaking and the 'you don't love me's' come in. And usually I give in.

Even when it's 'please go make me a sandwich' at 3am.

She never shouts or pushes me, she's just mastered passive-agressive guilt tripping.

I can't do it. Any request of mine is met with 'fuck off and do it yourself you lazy cow'. I need to learn to stand up for meself.
(sporky, Thu 13 Oct 2005, 21:46, Reply)

as if you care...

(Slurpy The Frog, Thu 13 Oct 2005, 21:44, Reply)

my girlfriend...
Everytime i make love to my catholic girlfriend, after we finish, she ALWAYS bursts into tears and leaves me lying there feeling like a rapist. She even runs out of the room sometimes.

edit: it's ok we're putting marriage plans together now so she won't feel so bad :¬S
(richard cropper's comedy account Stephen Frizzle is on the sex offenders list, Thu 13 Oct 2005, 20:38, Reply)