Dinner Tuesday night. F prepared a meal for my parents, including chicken cutlets. I came home while my parents were eating, so my mother said "Grab a plate and come join us."
When I put some chicken on my plate you would have thought I was committing a heinous crime. A started yelling about how I was taking food out of my parents' mouths, that F made just enough chicken for my parents to have dinner Tuesday night and Wednesday night, that she and F would not be home Wednesday night to cook for our parents. That I had better be prepared to provide for my parents for Wednesday night.
But of course. I am quite capable of putting a meal on the table, even during Passover. I just don't think I should have to do so when my mother has two adult daughters living with her who have no jobs or means of support and who drive my mother's car and shop with her credit cards and do exactly as they please.
As it happened, my mother and I had the foresight to buy frozen kosher for Passover cheese blinzes. Game plan was to make the blinzes and some egg salad, have a dairy dinner.
Got home around 7:45. Found out my sister made egg salad before she left. I made the blinzes. We ate. Not a big deal.
My mother suggested I take the leftovers for lunch Thursday. Wrapped up the blinzes, put what was left of the egg salad into a container, put everything into a brown paper lunch bag, put the lunch bag into the refrigerator.
Pulled the bag out of the fridge Thursday morning, and the egg salad was gone. Since they don't eat eggs, and since the container was nowhere to be found, I assume they tossed it into the garbage.
And you wonder why I lose my temper with them . . .