The Vegas Principle

Most of my family members have a mantra hanging in their homes which states, “If you come here and repeat what you see, then do not come back here.”

The first time I saw the novelty item hanging on the walls I thought it was cute with a dash of sass. But, then again it was in true family form.

I realized it was synonymous to the Vegas saying. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

When you see a message as succinct as the wall hanger you wonder how it applies to you. I am not one to gossip or take people’s personal affairs on a world tour. Except for emoting the past few years in my blog, the subjects I speak of pertain to me directly and my experiences with specific family members.

My kvetching rarely has to do with defaming my family’s residences for no earthly reason. What I mean by this remark is, have you ever gone to a real swanky wedding and somewhere in the crowd of well wishers you hear people complaining about the décor, the lack of enough food, inadequate helpers and so on?

I am not such a person. If I am invited somewhere and it is not up to my specifications, I try to set a time limit, make an excuse and leave. But I will not rip the place to shreds or the people verbally just because it was not up to my liking especially if they were decent, polite and cordial.

Although I may be understanding and mild mannered when it comes to certain embarrassing situations that everyone experiences in their households, my adoptive mother’s family are not.

Over the years I have observed my mother’s niece calling her granddad complaining to him there is not enough heat in the house. She does not tell him that the oil ran out and the oil company has to come by and refuel. No, she makes him believe they are being cheap by not refueling the place every time she snaps her fingers.

Anyone who lives in the suburbs knows oil is very expensive and the price is constantly going up. In a season where it is really cold it takes a few days to get a service person because they have other customers who have run out of oil also.

When she is not kvetching about the heat she complains my adoptive mother does not go grocery shopping enough because there is nothing for her to consume in the house…Well that is just bollocks.

My adoptive mother is not a housewife where she is home all day. The woman works a full time job and she has her own ailments she is dealing with. So, even if the house is not replenished on demand there is usually veggies and meats which one has to cook in order to make a snack or meal.

For her there is nothing to have instantaneously  because my adoptive mother waits on her hand and foot by cooking her meals. So naturally if the coddler is not around then the “kindergartner” has to help herself…..OMG! What a concept!

If there are repairs to be done in the house and my parents are not on it in a jiffy she alerts my adoptive mother’s family about their lackadaisical attitude to get things done as if they are working for her.

Mind you, if she saw something out of the ordinary she is not the type to even attempt conducting damage control or prevention. She will let it fester and then inform my adoptive parents in an alarming manner.

Although sprite they are getting up in age and cannot attend to every little chore at the drop of a hat.

Many times a lot of the unnecessary repairs occur on account of her and her daughter’s family running through the house with their possie as if they think they are at Great Adventures.

There was one occasion where my adoptive father made the mistake of asking her to loan him a couple of dollars to make up the oil money because he had been ill and had not gone out for a few days.

She loaned him the money but when he did not give her back immediately she went all over the neighborhood and the family informing them.

Nothing which takes place in the house is sacred. On many occasions she was over  heard dissecting my name to my adoptive mother’s parents and sisters when I had done nothing to her.

It was as if she were a spy telling them what my adoptive parents did for me or what they gave me, or how they should treat me.

The way she was acting was as if she did not get the memo I was adopted or perhaps she was sent there to keep an eye on my adoptive mother to ensure she did not treat me too well.

I was raised in the British Reserve manner where you seldom emoted about what was going on in your household. For many years I kept quiet as my adoptive mother’s family ran rings around me and made up horrible stories.

My adoptive parents or other family members never held them accountable so I decided to be the mother to me that no one else was by talking about the ways in which they hurt me and massacred my soul.

Most of the times the only thing I was guilty of was trying to be a nice and inclusive person and for that I got a whole world of unhappiness.

If I had one too many dates they would tell my adoptive parents I am wild and my adoptive mother’s family would suggest behavior modification treatments as if I were an animal.

If I were dating a lot or out of the house more frequently it was because they were making me uncomfortable and miserable. There was nothing wrong with me except people were trying to step on my toes by taking my place in my adoptive parents’ lives.

Once my adoptive mother’s family began coming around the Vegas Principle was never upheld. Any and everything which happened in the house became public knowledge and fodder.

Many times I became privy to certain personal and private matters concerning my parents and myself because I heard it within the community as I went about my daily business.

Oddly enough, for people who like to scandalize others by taking their intimate business on a world tour, their business is often shrouded in secrecy because beneath it all they are shady.