Dear My Inlaws,

First of all, I would like to thank you for leading my husband on. For every time he's gotten off the phone, smiling, eyes shining and said, 'They say they can't wait to see the house!' or 'She says that they can come down this spring!' I thank you. I commend your Amazing Powers of Manipulation and your Thousands of Empty Promises.

Now. Maybe I am a LITTLE offended that you don't give enough of a shit to come see where we've lived for the last three years. Maybe it does annoy me a LITTLE bit that every time Tony wants to see you, I have to take unpaid time off work, have week-long anxiety attacks and nightmares about mean customs officers and drug my dog...all to spend a fun-filled week perched on that old couch next to the Man, watching televised horse racing in Italian, fighting the urge to bash my head in with that nasty-as-shit espresso maker you keep on the stove.

But, please. Please. When I invite you to my home to surprise your son for his thirtieth birthday party...MAYBE you shouldn't talk about what a HARD trip is it and how IMPOSSIBLE it seems and it just WOULDN'T BE FAIR TO THE DOG.

Fuck your dog.
Seriously.
She's old.
And irritating.
She could kick it any minute.

Do you think that if she DIES before Tony's birthday you could make it down for a visit?

Yeah.
I didn't think so.

Love,
K

P.S. Maybe next time you could come up with a halfway decent excuse? Yeah. Work on it.