eBear is making changes.
I will have to cross this bridge eventually, but for right now I’m just going to log this here in the hopes that I can shake off my anger.
In order to use FB’s dad van yesterday, we had to go to his parent’s gift store to wait for his dad to come over with it. So as we were walking in, I said to FB, “Do you want me to wait outside? I know I’m not your mom’s favourite right now.” (She’s been picking fights with FB’s bro and his wife because they are friends with me.) He responded, “No, don’t worry about her, she won’t say anything to you.” I said, “I know she won’t say anything to my face, but I don’t want to make things difficult for you later on.” He told me I had nothing to worry about; just to ignore her. So we went in, and she was all smiles and sweetness (and twofaced). We stuck around for awhile, and then found out his dad was going to be even later than expected, so we went to their house to wait for him.
So FB is in the kitchen, doing some dishes for his mom, and I’m standing in the living room just off the kitchen. I happen to look over at the floor infront of this shelving unit that is covered in pictures. Leaning up against the bottom shelf is quite a few pictures in frames that have never been set out anywhere. At the front of this pile is a picture that looks oddly familiar, but I just thought it was because I’d seen it at the house before. Then I looked back at it again, and I realised why it looked so familiar: it was mine.
I have a good friend who is a photographer, and she often gifts me with some of her gorgeous landscape prints, always signed and dedicated to me. This one print in particular is a beautiful picture she took in Mexico, and had framed for me. It’s just a small 4×6 print in a matted 8×10 frame, and as I said, she has dedicated it to me on the back of the frame. I am so blessed to be given these beautiful gifts by my amazing friend.
But back to the story at hand – so I realised this is what this picture is, and I called out to FB and said, “Why is S’ picture in your mom’s house on the floor?” He came into the living room and asked me to repeat what I had just said. I did. He looked to where I was gesturing, and saw it too. He couldn’t explain it; told me to wrap it up and put it in my bag. (DUH!)
I was – and still am – livid. The fact that this woman feels she can waltz into what was Our house – and in so much as my things are still in it, still is Our house, but at least is FB’s house, and take whatever she wants home again, BOILS MY BLOOD. He told me that she had been there and had “raided his stash”, but I thought he meant of groceries (he stockpiles the stuff that’s on sale). We had an issue last year when she came over and “cleaned” for us without our knowledge; she opened up a bag of things I was going to return and opened all the packages. Which meant I couldn’t return them anymore.
So she stole from me – something that has my own NAME on the damn thing – and then she has the nerve to stand there and act all sweet and nice to my face while talking shit behind my back?? Oh she SO deserves all the shit she’s been dealt in this life!!!
And yes, I do realise just how similar I am being right now – by ‘talking shit’ here, but pretending to be nice to her face as well. But I can tell you that her time will come when she has to face me. And it won’t be pretty. She’s afraid of me. Always has been.
I can’t wait.