Candies

On the flight to Ottawa last week, I was seated beside a very cool guy.  "I have two daughters by two different mothers and I spent 10 years trying to find one of them because that mother went into hiding and refused to let me see her," he told me.  "What a bitch," I replied, "but typical of many cases."  I was thinking of B's own case.  Had he not persevered, spending thousands and thousands of our collective money on lawyers and psychologists, he would never have even seen his own two kids, let alone been awarded custody.  That's what happens to nasty malicious mothers who set out to deny the other parent access.  But it's always, "show me the money".  Didn't work in his case, although even with majority custody we had to pay her for six long and expensive years.   

But I digress.  Returning from Calgary after a visit with his other daughter, my seat mate told me he had spent $30,000 on the first daughter's education, but would not be invited to her upcoming wedding because her mother and step-father were refusing to allow it.  "What a bitch," I repeated.

The "candies" refer to my seat mate on the flight back to Calgary.  She was a morbidly obese woman (thank God no one was in the middle seat) who devoured two bags of gumdrops before we even got off the ground!  She then proceeded to order snacks, chips, snacks, chips and more snacks.  I found it disgusting.  Didn't utter one word to her the entire trip.  Why would I give my wit to a fat and determined loser like that?  Some people don't deserve my entertaining banter.  Sorry to crow, but it's true.  Just ask anyone who has ever chatted with me. 

Fashion note:  I didn't tell anyone I would be coming to Uncle Rollie's funeral, just showed up.  Part of it was because I didn't want a hassle from my cousin's wife and part of it was.....yes, I admit it.....to make an entrance and surprise a few other relatives who really don't like me and would never have dreamt I would have made a special trip to bury my dear, dear uncle.*  I've got news for them: nothing would have kept from that church, nothing.  I know I'm indulging in a little vain head-swelling here, but I wore a gorgeous, embroidered and beaded, brown silk Indian jacket, my beautiful classical black suede high heels and a custom-made pair of "Angelina Jolie" drop earrings.  Remember the emerald pair she wore to the Oscars a few years ago?  I fell in love with them and had a replica made, but in synthetic emerald, beryl.  Never mind, they are still absolutely dazzling.  "I can't take my eyes off them, they're magnificent," raved one woman -- herself a fashionista.

If I think of anything else to share about my trip, I'll let you know. 
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*Actually, it's only one other cousin who hates me.  Right after my mother died in 2001, she wrote me a four-page poison-pen letter, telling me how much she had always hated me, going back to our childhood and recounting various incidents I didn't even remember.  By the way, she waited until I had given her and her daughter the money my mother had wanted them to have.  With no estate, I did not have to give them any money, but I did because I knew it was my mother's wish.  Incidentally, her mother left me nothing when she died, but I didn't expect any.  Cousin "M" did.   

Boy, in her evil letter she really went to town!  I had no idea?!  Who does that??  I remember reading it in shock before I tore it up and threw it out.  Man, can I help it if I was head cheerleader and you weren't even on the squad?  Can I help it if my boyfriend was head boy and you didn't have one?  Can I help it if I was one of the most popular girls in town and you weren't?  But we were cordial and polite at the funeral.  Good for us.