Curious crystal-digging business and conversation with Mary-Sue Vrees

The day has been relatively peaceful so far. Mike got up this morning and noticed there were no Froot Loops, but he didn't get angry. Not openly, at least. This, as I soon found out, is because he had a piece of "important news" for me which he wasn't sure how I was going to take.

Michael is now under the impression that he, Jason and that miscreant Frederick are going to a four-week camp this summer located in what I imagine must be in or near Montana. From what I understand (which is not too much considering he was speaking like a robot on a caffeine high), they are going there to dig up crystals at the bottom of a lake. Sounds pretty fishy to me. Let me tell you, I am now under the impression that this is both not a legit camp and that it is also not a place I will ever allow my only son to go spend one day, let alone his entire month of July. So I let him finish his little I'm-an-independant-big-kid-now-and-this-is-what-I'm-gunna-do speech, then I looked at him and I very calmly said, "Over my dead body... unless you want to give me that mask."

Michael is now at school, doing algebra problems and plotting my death.

I actually just got off the phone with Jason's mother, and only now am I realizing that I probably should have asked her about this curious crystal-digging business, since the whole thing was probably her idea in the first place. It sounds mean of me to say, but trust me. That woman is crazy. Insane. Completely off her rocker.

She called me disgustingly early this morning, right after Michael had caught the bus. Hannibal was the one who answered the phone, taking a break from his power-dusting. "Gert-phone," he said quickly and without any trace of a comma, as usual. I answered from the living room. I barely got out the "hello" before she was all, "This is Gertie?" in a very icy, snobby voice. I said, "Oh, hi Mrs V," which I know sounds like something a loser of a 39-year-old mother who's trying to be "hip" and "in touch with the teenage culture" would say, but it's not. I just can't pronounce her last name.

And not only that! I also don't know her first name, despite the large number of infernal summer barbecues I attended at her house this past year. I swear to God, the first time I met this woman, she threw out her hand and said, "HelloI'mMissesVrees". She never said, you know, "Call me Cathy" or "Call me Carla" or "Call me Bob". Nope. Just a cold, impersonal, "Missesvrees" for Gertie.

I gave her a name. I did! I will admit I baptised her. I called her Mary-Sue. Now, in my head, every time Jason's mom calls, or when I see her, I'm all, "Ahp, there's Mary-Sue comin' along." I think it's a fairly fitting name for this woman considering she looks suspiciously like Dolores Umbridge from the Harry Potter movies. But that's just my opinion. For all I know, her name's "Deidre" or something along that line of naming. So it's not like I can just answer the phone, my normal bubbly self like I always am when the house is this empty, and be all, "Oh hiiiiii, Mary-Sue!" That would quite possibly cause her to come to my front door with a dagger in the middle of the night and have an awkward conversation with herself in several different high-pitched voices on my doorstep before killing me. So I can't do that. And I can't say "Mrs. Vrees" either, because that would make me sound like I am on a special underground type of opioid drugs.

So I call her Mrs V. Sue me.

Anyway, so I say "Hi, Mrs V.," and she's all, "WHATDIDYOURDERANGEDCHILDDOTOMYPOORINNOCENTJASON."

I considered this for a moment, quite shocked at her loud, expressionless tone. My ear still hurts a little bit from that. Honestly woman, the last thing this family needs is another trip to the family doctor's office. So I said, genuinely confused, "I'm-not-quite-sure-I-know-what-you're-talking-about." And she's all, through gritted teeth, "Last night... Jason came home... from hockey practice..." - which she forces him to go to, by the way - "and he refused... he refused... to remove his hockey mask."

I said, "Exactly what are you insinuating?"

And she was all, "Michael. Is. A. Bad. Influence. On. My. Dear. Sweet. Child. You. Keep. Him. Away. From. Us. Or. I. Will. Go. Out. And. Get. The. HOSE. And. I. Will. Douse. That. Little. Psycho. In. Cold. Garden. Water." She hung up the phone.

Well, so much for being civilised with each other! Golly-gee! Whatever happened to "it's a beautiful day in the neighbourhood"?

As soon as I hung up the phone, Hannibal, who had obviously been "inconspicuously" eavesdropping the whole time (in other words he was standing in the doorframe and staring at me as I conversed with Mary-Sue Vrees), came up to the couch and began his regular ceremony. "What was that all about? What did she want? What's she insinuating about me? What's she bitching about now?"

I went to bed for about an hour with a cup of hot tea and a good book, and now I'm back downstairs, waiting for Michael, Johnny and Robert to get home so we can pick from a hat and figure out whose turn it is to cook dinner.