Why are you here?

My mother did something this afternoon that is in the top ten most offensive things that you can possibly do to me.

Being an intensely introverted person with probable borderline social anxiety, I like to be alone. Nay, I LOOOOOVE to be alone. Alone time for me is better than sex or chocolate cake or massages. A day of quiet aloneness is a treasure to me.

My husband had just gotten in his truck and pulled out of the driveway for a two hour trip to run various errands, and I walked back into the house in anticipation of 2 full hours of quiet alone time. It was a glorious feeling and I was giddy to find something on TV that had no cartoon characters or detective story plot to it.

While peeing, I heard my door quietly open and shut. It kind of scared me because there was no reason for my husband to be coming back so soon. I picked up my cell phone and called him really quickly rather than calling out in the house to ask who was there, because I honestly was scared and had a weird feeling about it.

He answered and I whispered, "are you here?" When he said no, I dropped the phone and felt panic. I got the baseball bat that I keep under my bed for this very purpose and I began slinking down the hall.

It was my own god damn MOTHER! She had come over to my house 100% totally and completely unannounced and had not knocked or rang the bell or anything - just let herself right in.

This is so intensely offensive to me. Unnanounced guests are of the devil to people like me, much less guests with keys to my house who just let themselves in.

My old neighbor, Kevin, would very often come knocking on our door completely unannounced rather than calling first - during dinner - during baths - during whatever, and I actually taught my kid that when a door knocks and you aren't expecting anyone, you go into another room and sit very very quietly until the knocking stops. Seriously, I find unannounced visits so offensive that I will rarely even humor you by answering the door if you do it. Kevin did it so often, that it is ingrained in Luke's brain to look at me for direction on what to do whenever a door bell rings.

What if I was naked? What if I had been using adult toys in the living room? (I'm just saying is all.) I mean, just waltzing into someone's home completely unannounced is so brazen and ballsy and really just rude.

Her story is that she came to help around the house since I was sick...which is nice and all...but any good will that could have come of it was flushed out the door by her method of entry.

She said, "well, I talked to Ziggy earlier." Um, yeah, you called while I was asleep and told Ziggy that you would CALL after you finished cooking your pot of beans to see if I wanted any help around the house. Is that what happened? No, I didn't think so, since I have no missed calls on my phone.

So then, in her usual martyrdom way, she immediately shifted into abused child mode of no one loves her and no one appreciates her and why does she even exist.

I told her NINE times that I was just really still sick and really dopey on meds and that I just wasn't in the mood for company or cleaning today. She then followed me around the house for a half hour explaining to me whatever it was and almost begging for love and approval.

I hate this shit. I didn't ask for her help. I may have wanted her help if I had a little time to prepare myself for it (it takes at least 10 minutes of mental preparation for a visit from my mother). So now, I feel like shit for being ungrateful, and I feel like shit for making her feel bad, and now I'm stuck with her here for at least two hours alone while my husband is out running those errands that I purposely orchestrated that he go out and run specifically so that I could be ALONE and now by time she leaves, he'll be returning and UGH!

Ziggy is a whole other issue - he walks around like a lost puppy when I'm sick and wakes me up 9 million times just to see if I'm feeling better yet and it's like he paces around until I finally get up and am normal for him again. He freaks out when I am out of commission.

Anyway, so that's my day. Now with the whirring of the vacuum in the background, I have to get up and go fold the laundry that my mother insisted that I let her wash - because I'd prefer for her NOT to fold Ziggy's underwear or my granny panties.

Fabulous. Good times.