>Oh No She Didn’t.

>”So, have you taken a look at your door sill lately?” my father-in-law asked yesterday morning with a devilish grin.

“What?” I said, rounding the kitchen counter to take a look. The door sill is where Hubs and I, in timeless American tradition, keep tabs on the girls’ heights from holiday to holiday. Since we’ve lived in our house, the girls have been growing like weeds, and it shows in the number of markings on the door trim.

But on this day, I saw something unexpected.

In between my daughters’ names and dates was another name. ‘Mary Helen.’ In. Sharpie.

“Oh, Mary Helen put her name up here,” I said irritatedly. Mary Helen was the wild child of one of Hubs’s friends. He had brought his family over for dinner the night before and I’d noticed Mary Helen making a big deal about how the girls’ heights were marked and how her own parents wouldn’t allow that at home.

“I did it for a while in pencil,” Mary Helen’s mother told me, “but it looked awful, so I rubbed it all off.”

So imagine my shock when my father-in-law said, “Mary Helen didn’t write her name there. Her mother did.”

Oh. No. She. Didn’t.

Bitch wrote on MY WALLS with a fucking Sharpie?

I challenge you here and now to top this appalling transgression in guest etiquette. I don’t think you can do it.

And I know what I’m bringing the next time Mary Helen’s mom invites us all over for potluck dinner. A big fat Sharpie. Because I think her newly-painted kitchen could use some, ahem, embellishment.