Tomorrow is the first anniversary of my becoming a mother-in-law, the maligned hag of every comedian’s repertoire. I’ll have to admit that the way I’ve eased into this role is to immerse myself in denial. “Angie just lives in Kentucky and dates Adam.” I don’t have a problem with Angie’s choice of Adam; the problem is with my title. What, really, is a mother-in-law’s function?
Does she give advice even when it isn’t requested? In lieu of advice, does she make demands and expect compliance? I’ll have to plead guilty to giving advice, but it’s usually followed by, “You know I can’t keep my mouth shut.” Sometimes it softens the tone and the words.
I think the problem is that being a mother-in-law doesn’t fit into my self-image. That’s something that older women do. Wait a minute! I am an older woman. When did that happen?