Anyway, my point being that Jenn’s parents clearly sense this chink in my armor, so to speak, and so they’re attempting to test my internal fortitude by keeping the house temperature at a rather chilly 65 degrees. I refuse to crack, however, and simply keep putting on more clothing: a base layer, a sweatshirt, extra socks, a hoodie, etc. With the hoodie, I feel compelled to actually put the hood up, so I wind up looking like the Staypuff Marshmallow version of the Unabomber. Which is always a good look around the holidays.
Now, it’s rather telling that everyone else feels fine at this temperature, yet I’m still cold even when they crank up the temp to 68. No, wait, myself and Grandmother Mimi are the only ones who are cold. Mimi who is 94. The way I look at it, this is just something else for me to blame on FatSurlyBlind – because really, what other explanation can there be for the fact that apparently I have the robust constitution of a 94-year-old woman??
Sleep deprivation is also a tactic being used, as we stay up until 2AM playing dominoes. Then the next morning, again with the food: waffles with real maple syrup, bacon, etc. As before, I play along and defiantly yet cheerfully eat a stack of waffles and copious amounts of bacon, just to throw them off. I know, the lengths I’ll go to in order to maintain my mien of goddessness are truly astonishing.
One thing I am truly grateful for is the fact that unlike at home, no one here tries to usurp my claim on the Sad Cancer Face. Okay, they don’t really buy it either – when I make the SCF or use my favorite “But I have cancer, you know” line in an attempt to get better playing cards, for example, Jenn just laughs at me and I get nowhere. But that’s better than the typical holiday at my mom’s, where my jokes about The Cancer go over like a lead balloon, my idiot brother George blathers on and on about himself and all HIS difficulties and trials and tribulations, and our family friends Ann and Bob just give me the SCF. Not the one that I’ve honed to perfection as a ploy to get schwag or favors, of course, but rather the pitying one that says “Oh, you have cancer, we better not bring it up because that’ll just remind us all that you’re dying, because that’s what cancer is all about.” Yeah, THAT look.
So at least here in Boston, I get to have my Sad Cancer Face all to myself. And if that isn’t something to be thankful for, well, I don’t know what is.
*Yes, right eye is still blurry, though today, left eye joined the party as well. Whee, just call me Mr. Magoo!