Peter, I loved reading your stories about your mother-in-law, and it reminded me of my early days with my mother-in-law. She didn't think that I was good enough for her oldest (and favorite ?) son, in any case; so no matter what I had done (or not done), things would not have gotten off to a good start. That she was raised by a very proper mother and father in England and her culture was totally different did not help a lot either. When I married my husband, I was 18, and had never even really dated anyone else; so my experience with men was very slight, and mainly just included my family, which was pretty laidback, and easy to get along with. My MIL took complete care of my father-in-law, and all of her sons (she had 4). When my husband (to be) woke up, he left his pajamas on the floor, showered, returned to find clean and ironed pants, shirt, handkerchief, and underwear laid out neatly for him on the bed. He got dressed, and when he was done, a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast was waiting for him, and his lunch was packed, and thermos full of fresh coffee. After he left for work, she made the bed, straightened up the bedroom, washed, dried, and ironed all of his clothes. This is what my husband expected from his wife when he married me. There is more, and it gets worse. At first opportunity, he moved us into his parents house, where I was "trained" in all of the wifely duties that I was so remiss in. I also learned that only the men-folk got bacon and eggs for breakfast. Women had tea and toast. And orange marmalade. I had never had orange marmalade before; but it was a very "English" thing. I instantly hated it; but after a few months of having that, I learned to appreciate having it on my dry toast. Even worse sins I committed. I got up during the night and made myself a bologna sandwich. She noticed the lunchmeat was disappearing faster than usual. I was reprimanded and told that the lunchmeat and mayonnaise sandwiches were only for the men "because they worked and needed to keep their strength up". When I was growing up, we all pitched in with whatever family chores needed doing. Cooking, dishwashing, folding laundry, we all shared in , and the first one there at night would start dinner. Everyone ate the same, everyone was equal. If we wanted a sandwich in the middle of the night, no one cared. Coming from this unrestricted family lifestyle, and suddenly becoming almost a servng girl (with a very different life and expectations from me); and a very rebellious one at that; I guess it was no wonder that I was off to a bad start as a daughter-in-law, and I am sure that she often wished that her son had never met me, either.
That woman would've hated me, and I would not have lasted two days in that household. I'm also sure that no son of hers would have wanted to marry someone like me, who even now is not very 'domesticated'. It was considered quite normal at one time for a wife to be some sort of compliant domestic angel whose main role in life was to serve her husband , and that was how the mother-in-law would have been brought up. We now live in a more enlightened, more feminist and more liberated age, but it's possible that women like her, and men like her son, still exist.
My first husband and I were married almost 30 years, and he never could cook anything besides heating up a can of Campbell's chicken noodle soup. If I had to go somewhere and knew i would be late getting home, and left food in the refrigerator for him to eat, he didn't. He would still be waiting up for me (even if it was midnight), and complaining that he was starving when I got home. However, if I had fixed dinner, and he didn't want to eat it; he would go out to a restaurant and buy himself a steak dinner instead, and leave the kids and I home to eat the beans that he didn't like. He did try to feed the animals; but once when I was gone, he shot my cat because he called her and she was hiding under the house and wouldn't come out for him to feed her. As for my mother-in-law; we eventually made peace after her other sons got married, and she decided that I was not the worst wife her firstborn could have chosen, after all. It is easy to understand why I think that my Bobby is the best husband ever. He can cook, picks up his own socks, and doesn't ever shoot the cat.......
Sounds like you've paid dearly for your current peace of mind alright, Yvonne. If I only had a buck for every one of my patients who's family went out of their way to ruin their life...Oh, wait--I DO!