Revenge: Best Eaten Cold

I'm not a big fan of revenge.  I love the idea of it, but in practice, it usually backfires and makes the person seeking vengeance feel even worse.  But I've hatched a perfectly delicious, passive-aggressive plan that I think will serve its purpose and completely confuse its victims at the same time. 

Let me back up.  I finally heard from my dad on Thursday, five days after the whole bar mitzvah debacle.  And while it was a relief to get his phone call, it was infuriating at the same time.  First of all, I asked him (add weight to the words), "What is going on????"  Granted, that's a broad and open-ended question, but I didn't expect the response I received.

"Well, the weather here is pretty good and we're just settling back into our routine."  Whaaaat?   So I said, "No, how are things going?"  "Oh, pretty well.  We just got back from Apple School [or whatever it's called where you learn how to use your iPhone.  Hey, they're senior citizens!]." 

This went on for a few minutes until I realized that in my dad's reality, nothing HAD happened.  He was done with the incident and was never going to talk about it again.  Actually, I should say never talk about it at all, because he never did.  And his failure to mention it was the thing that was most upsetting for me the day it went down.

This doesn't mean that he is of the forgive and forget ilk.  No, during the conversation, he brought up something I said to him fifteen years ago.  Without boring anyone with the details, it took me a few days to even remember what he was talking about, since he had misconstrued the point I had been trying to make fifteen years ago.  What's telling is that he still held a grudge about what he thought I had been trying to say.  Unfortunately, instead of talking to me about it closer to the time it happened, he's kept it buttoned up tightly all this time, so it's festered and probably can't be gotten rid of no matter how much I try to clear it up

Which I'm not inclined to do in the first place.  It's become increasingly difficult to have a meaningful conversation with him.  I'm guessing this has something to do with the marital difficulties I was going through a while back.  For him, divorce is almost as shameful as obesity, and it took about a year of seeing me miserable and crying spontaneously for him to come to terms with the fact that I might be happier without my husband.  When I would talk to him, his discomfort at hearing and seeing me so unhappy was palpable. I think he developed a habit of interrupting me when it seemed like our conversations might turn serious (i.e. meaningful) because he just didn't want to hear anything other than happy prattle.  No news is good news, right?  So he will make inappropriate comments and jokes that he thinks are witty, or will interject unrelated anecdotes until I get disgusted and drop the subject.  While it keeps us from getting close to one another, it also insulates him from the ugly truth of my life.

Oddly, although I feel let down by him, I'm more upset at myself than I am at him.  I've known what he was like for a long time and simply expected more from him than he was capable of or willing to give me.  Wanting something you can never have is a sure path to misery.  I don't want to go down that road again.

The experience has also taught me a fair amount about myself.  Most interestingly, I was talking to my husband about the fifteen year old conversation and how my dad couldn't let it go, how he held it against me and still harbored a grudge.  As I was talking, I saw the expression on my husband's face change and realized that I was talking about myself.  My husband said and did a lot of really stupid and insensitive things in the past that changed our relationship as we moved forward.  And although he would never say or do any of those things now, he is still paying for them by my refusal to let go of my resentment of the person he used to be.  They say that you qualities you despise most in other people are those qualities you refuse to see in yourself, and boy, does that describe me to a T in this respect.  I do NOT want to be like my dad, caught up so deep in my righteous anger that I let it color my existing relaltionships. 

We left off with me asking him (several times, so the context was clear) what I should do.  "Nothing," he said.  "In surgery, the rule is to always do nothing unless there's something that you need to do."  And while this sounds like denial in some ways, it sounds like damage control in others.  No one had any idea that my little conversation with J last Friday would erupt into something like this.  Who knows what further confrontation could spark?  And in this situation, no one is going to be the winner.  I don't get to be right in anyone's eyes except my own.  I can accept that.  Honestly, what else is there to do?

Well, taking that last question as a non-rhetorical one, other than toying with ideas of what I would do if I could go back in time (which doesn't work, as evidenced by Uncle Rico's botched experiment with poor Napoleon), I could plot revenge.  How do I get even?  Or at least get back?  We will be staying in their condo in Florida (while they're away) in a few weeks, and I LOVE the idea of putting sand in the La Prairie face cream, letting the boys used their bathroom (anyone with male children will know what penises and toilets do to a bathroom floor), or swapping her prescription meds around.  But I settled on something even lovelier:  matzoh crack. 

Yes, matzoh crack, the infamous and easy Passover recipe loved by Jewish housewifes (even non-deranged ones) and feared by sugar addicts and recovering bulimics nationwide.  Since we will be staying at the condo during Passover, what would be nicer and more hospitable than to leave a VERY LARGE package of something delicious, sophisticated, and FULL OF EMPTY CALORIES AND SATURATED FAT that is absolutely irresistable?  Even shiksas have been known to make this stuff (you have to love the idea of matzoh crack being served as dessert at a Christmas party.  Even Santa Claus would appreciate the irony).  J loves chocolate.  She can't stop eating it.  She demolished the turtles I brought her over Thanksgiving (as would any sane person).  And she will love this.  And it will torture her to have it around, but would torture her worse to throw it out.  And giving them something this delicious and wonderful will reinforce my postion as a kind and good person would couldn't hold a grudge if it was covered in Velcro. 

My moratorium on baking has ended, although I still choose not to do it simply because, as in December, it's like playing with fire.  But I'm making exceptions--like making my famous Passover blondies for my sister-in-law who takes the heat off me by hosting a seder for 40 people at her house--and will make an exception here too.  At the worst, I'm taking the high road and extending the olive branch.  And at best, I will cause distress and discomfort in the most insidious, evil way anyone with eating or body image issues could imagine.  The trick will be not eating any myself, but since I prefer the sweet taste of revenge to chocolate in this case, keeping my palate clean should be a little easier.

Note:  I just did the math, and actually my moratorium doesn't end until April 15.  Is it worth it to break my promise to myself?  I will think this over.  Since matzoh is on sale this week for $2 for 5 boxes (usually it's more than $3/box), perhaps I should take that as a sign from the universe that God is in favor of my plan.  For the God of the Jews is just and merciful, but also vengeful when He is insulted, and remember what happened in one of His synagogues last weekend....