OK, so I didn't react as gracefully as I could, but I also didn't throw anything or use profanity, which is what I actually wanted to do.
Here's what happened.
On Monday night Nick's good sister, the one I like, came to town for work, and she stayed the night. She had a cold. In fact, she said she didn't want to pick Jordan up because she had a cold.
This matters later.
I didn't get to see much of her, as her visit coincided with what I think must've been a 24-hour stomach bug, and so while they went out to dinner, I stayed home and threw up. And then crawled in bed and slept fitfully. Sipping Gatorade, but not too much at once, because the bathroom is down a long hall.
By the time I got up the next morning, Nick, his sister, and Jordan were sitting at the kitchen table. Nick had made breakfast for them. He and J were sharing a bowl of oatmeal.
We've been doing a lot of baking, and so there was a bag of coconut in the cupboard next to the brown sugar. So Nick had added that to the oatmeal. He was proudly pronouncing it the Best Bowl of Oatmeal Ever.
He wanted me to try it, and I said I still didn't feel well. Plus I didn't want to get them sick, in case whatever I had was communicable.
He held out the spoon to his sister, "Here, take a bite."
I said, "No - she has a cold."
She waved me off. "Oh, I'm at the end of it. It's fine."
To which I replied, "Here, I'll bring clean spoons."
In the span of time it took me to walk from the silverware drawer to the table, which is all of, oh, seven to ten steps, she'd taken the bite, put the spoon back in the bowl, and was giving Nick a smug look.
I was furious. "Did you just put the spoon back?"
I snapped, "You're just like your mother."
"What does that mean?"
"You're always right." I flung the clean spoons down on the table, and turned to leave. It's granite, and they clanged and bounced.
As I walked out, Nick said, "Lisa, it'll be fine."
"Fine. So when he gets her fucking cold, you take care of him."
Nick called me later to see if I was OK. I'd left rather abruptly.
What he doesn't know what that I had a momentary desire to do something violent. To pick up the bowl of oatmeal and smash the whole thing on the table, to smack her face, to tell her what assholes I think they all are.
I'm trying not to dance with anger, as part of my general life-management plan. Some days I do a better job than others.
But the smugness and the lack of respect just kill me. I'm not interested in having her in my home until I get an apology.
Am I blowing this out of proportion?