You're really starting to disinfect me!

This past week my roommate's mother was in town, staying at our house. Thank heavens I was in Disneyland for most of those days because I am absolutely sure my sanity would not have been able to handle her.
First of all, I don't answer questions well. I don't like being questioned on everything about me. Especially stupid questions.

I have a picture frame on my wall that has six pictures in it. Under each picture is the persons name, their birthday, city of birth, their death date, and city of burial. If you look at this picture frame for more than three seconds you understand the people in the pictures are me, my mother, my grandmother, my great-grandmother, my great-great-grandmother, and my great-great-great-grandmother.

Last Sunday night my roommate's mother was staring at the pictures for about four minutes when she yelled to me "Who are these people in this picture?"
Uh...genius. Without looking up from what I was working on I said, "That would be me, my mother, and grandmothers." She stared at it for a few more full minutes then yelled again, "Why was your mother born in Chicago?!" WHAT THE CRAP? What kind of stupid question is that?!? (Granted, most of the people in the pictures where born in Utah, but still...dumb question.)

I almost couldn't contain my laughter. It was difficult; everyone who knows me knows I laugh pretty much constantly. Also, I just can't handle stupid people well. I can't contain my dislike all that well.
I replied, "Uhh...because her parents were living there at the time? (unsaid, though thought: you idiot.") She said, "Oh. In the military?" Is she really this idiotic? I ASK YOU! I said, "No." Now I could have been converstaional (and I'm sure my mother would have preferred I was) but I didn't want to. I was busy doing things to get ready for my trip to California and this woman was annoying the heck out of me with her stupidity. There was absolutely no necessity for me to delve into my grandfathers life story and the reason why my grandparents happened to be living in Chicago in 1949.

Later The Roomie's mother asked, "So you grew up in Utah?" I said yes. She asked, "In Provo?" I said, "No, Orem actually." She replied, "Ok, so Provo." No, you dimwitted fool, I did not grow up in Provo; I visited occasionally during family outings to Brick Oven. I grew up in Orem, stop trying to correct me. Then she said, "Lehi is a nice little town." WACKO.


She and her mother are exactly the same. Exactly.

The Rommie's mother was looking at a large candle I have in the kitchen and asked what the scent was, I told her it was cinnamon. She said the candle was huge (ooo, she's observant.) Then she actually asked me, "Did it actually come in this?" and pointed to the glass container the wax sat in. Uhhhh...odd. I said, "Uh, yeah...it did." She asked if I use it. No ma'am, the wicks came burnt and stubby like that. When I replied that I did indeed use it she said some idiotic things asking whether or not it has shrunk in the container if I have indeed used the candle, as I stated. Nah, the multiple waxy rings were put there by me, after I poured in the wax halfway up the jar and added the burnt wicks.