Friday, der Brucer and I headed over to the Eastern Shore immediately after I got off work, for grandladsitting. His daughter and s-i-l had a wake to attend, although when we got there they were in no hurry to leave. (This is after we had dashed across the peninsula, a ninety minute drive. Which will factor in later.) Parents told us they would probably be back in two hours, tops, and they were out of the house by eight.
The lads were great, and we let them stay up much later than we should have. But we got them to bed, and then began to wait for the parents to return.
And we waited.
And we waited.
And finally, the parents returned.
It was already past midnight.
Mind, this is der B's daughter, who regularly is screaming at people within five minutes of returning home. This is the daughter who gets upset with der B and I if we don't call and keep her posted if we're on the road and going to be late to ladsit.
I waited until she was seated on the couch, and then I told her off. I didn't raise my voice, but I did remind her that neither her father nor I had had dinner yet. That it would take us ninety minutes to get home, and then the extra time for me to cook our dinners. And that I had to go to work the next day.
The daughter just stared at me, dumbfounded. Could I actually be accusing her of being in the wrong about something?
We left shortly after. Der B hasn't told me whether she's tried to contact him since then.
I'll try to catch up with the posts here after I get back from work tonight.
