Cain killed Abel, with the leg of a table, and God paid him back with a mother-in-law.

It's moments like this when I'm glad nobody in my family, or in my husband's family, knows I have a blog, much less reads it.

Girls, I bet more than a few of you will be able to relate to what's annoying me right now. Let's start with a little back story...

I have an Aunt who was adopted by my grandmother. She's always been different from all the other aunts and uncles, mostly because she has always been involved with drugs. She behaves a little strange sometimes as a result. Every year at our family Christmas gathering, each family member brings a home made dish and we eat pot-luck style. This particular Aunt, however, always stops at Popeye's on her way to the family gathering, and brings a bucket of fried chicken as her contribution to the meal. There's nothing wrong with that. Most of us just giggle, because that's a very "her" thing to do, and we probably wouldn't want to eat anything she prepared herself anyway.

How does this relate to my current annoyance with my mother-in-law? She's trying to turn me into the fried chicken bringer. Let me explain...

Much like my family, my husband's family does put-luck style get-togethers for major holidays, with one little exception - they think they are the best cooks in the world, and they will do whatever they can to not have to eat any food prepared by outsiders. Guess who's an outsider? Yep. You got it. I don't have that Cajun blood flowing through my veins, so I must not be able to cook.

They're very tricky with the way they go about it too. See, if you don't offer to bring something you want to cook, they will ask you to bring something you can't screw up... like corn. That's what I was asked to contribute to this past Thanksgiving's feast. Everybody else was making green bean casserole, shrimp stuffed merlitons, sweet potato casserole, etc. I was asked to make corn.

I politely told my mother-in-law that I would like to contribute something with a little more difficulty than that. She asked me what, and since I was the last one asked (remember, they had to assign the good stuff to everybody else first, so I couldn't get my grubby little fingers on it), the only thing I could think of was potato salad. Nobody was making a potato dish, save sweet potatoes, so that was all I could think of. Now here's the kicker - they don't eat cold potato salad! Have you ever heard of such a thing? Everybody I've ever known eats their potato salad cold. So, I took my dish back home with only a small dent from myself and my husband (he knows when to come through), and I felt defeated.

For Christmas, I stayed ahead of the game. Before anybody had a chance to ask, or tell me what to bring, I announced that I was making a spinach & artichoke casserole. That was that. No discussion. I made it, it was delicious, and half of it was gone by the end of the meal. Of course, not by my mother-in-law's doing. She doesn't even eat the 2 main ingredients.

Now the Easter BBQ is around the corner, and what do I spy with my little eye this morning while at my desk, typing away? A text message... from the mother-in-law. Below is a transcript of that conversation:

Mother-in-Law: "Hi - Can u bring hamburger buns for Easter? We will need about 5 packs."
Me: "K" (can you sense the infuriation in my shortness?)
Mother-in-Law: "Is that too much?" (way to add insult to injury)
Me: "No"

I forgot Easter was so close and didn't beat her to the punch and offer to bring something I wanted to cook, so now I'm stuck bringing buns, because she knows I want to contribute something, and she has to ask me to alleviate her own guilt. We all know she could get the buns herself. She thinks she's doing me a favor by asking me to bring buns! Can you believe that?!

I don't know if she intends to, but she makes me feel 2 inches tall. All of the other women in the family will be bringing delicious, home cooked dishes, but I have to look like I'm domestically retarded because I'm not in the club. That may not be the reality, but that's surely what it feels like. I'm never called upon to do anything that matters, and to the others in attendance, I'm made to look like I don't even care enough to throw something of my own together.

Am I being paranoid, overly sensitive, or any of the other words my husband called me when I told him how hurt I was? Or do I have a right to feel this way, and should I do something about it? Because I've gotta say, the idea of having to go through this 5 times a year for the rest of my life is enough to make me crazy.