Then there was Colin’s mother, Joyce.
Joyce was the kind of woman who could turn a casual lunch into a fashion show nobody had asked to attend.
Her handbags supposedly cost thousands. Her jewelry came from Italy.
Her shoes were purchased at exclusive boutiques whose names she pronounced with such enthusiasm that I was afraid she’d sprain her tongue.
She was perfectly polite.
I suspected that if Joyce ever bought something on sale, she’d need medical attention.
Unfortunately, her expensive taste didn’t extend to good manners.
In front of Colin, she was perfectly polite. But whenever he left the room, she found creative ways to remind me that I wasn’t the daughter-in-law she’d envisioned.
“Not someone else’s.”
During one visit, while Colin was making coffee, she sighed.
“I’d hoped for grandchildren of my own. Not someone else’s.”
“Well, Paige already knows how to use the bathroom by herself,” I replied. “Think of the money you’ll save on diapers.”
