Dear Diary,
Black days are upon us. No. When Mrs. Corinthos moved in with us, those were black days. This is worse. Michael and I are evicted from our house and forced to live in Mr. Corinthos' penthouse.
At least I have an actual room. She wanted me to go get my cot from the house! "You can set it up in the corner of what's-his-name's room," she said. But Mr. Corinthos interrupted to say that I could stay in the guest room. At least I think that's what he said. It kind of sounded like "Tom Delay has a red broom" or "I sashayed into Grant's Tomb." But I don't think he knows the Congressman and he was pointing at the guest room. Besides, when I asked him to repeat himself he yelled "What do you want from me?" and threw his shoe at the door. I think I'll stay out of Mr. Corinthos' way from now on. He has some anger management issues.
My poor Michael. They trot him out like a dog and pony show, then send him away when they get tired of him. "I don't understand," he told me. "Uncle Jason used to be my daddy, but now I have to call Uncle Sonny 'daddy.' Then that other man showed up who said he was my daddy. How many daddies do I have and why are they all so mean? Can Uncle Reginald be my daddy too? He's better than my other daddies cause he never yells or makes people cry or blows things up."
He's so terrified of Mr. Corinthos's reaction if he forgets, that he's started calling everyone "daddy" just to be safe. "Mommy Daddy, will you help me change into my jammies? Scary Lady Daddy says we're not going to the wedding cause they 'loped like Scary Daddy and Uncle Sonny Daddy do whenever they get bored. Uncle Sonny Daddy says that a wedding is a promise and they like to break their promises, so they need lots of weddings." My poor son is speaking gibberish. What kind of a man puts that much pressure on a little boy.
Before I tucked Michael in, we said our nightly prayers to Our Lady of Slatterns. Not even the Corinthos' can prevent me from raising my child in a proper faith. Though Mrs. Corinthos is doing her best. She burst in on us, pointing at the altar to Our Lady and demanding to know what I was doing. "I pay you to keep what's-his-name out of my hair, not to teach him your sick jungle voodoo!"
I wanted to give that ignorant slut a piece of my mind, but for Michael's sake I gritted my teeth and explained to her that voodoo is from Haiti, but I am a Catholic from Colombia. "Whatever!" she threw her elbows back and smirked. "Whatever freakish island cult you belong to, keep it to yourself and put your demon talismans away!" "Mrs. Corinthos, Colombia isn't an island. Besides," I reminded her, "your husband is also a Catholic. You were married by a priest."
She looked confused. "That was a priest? I thought he was just another one of Sonny's flunkies. I wondered where he put the gun in that dress!"
"Hey Scary Daddy, that's not a demon," piped Michael, "it's Our Lady of ---mmph!"
I clapped my hand over his mouth and finished his sentence: "--Guadalupe. It's Our Lady of Guadalupe. Your husband can tell you about Our Lady, he must remember her from Cuba." Now it was my turn to look confused. Is Mr. Corinthos Cuban or isn't he? I'm still not sure.
Finally Mrs. Corinthos left us in peace to finish our prayers. I let Lupita out of her hiding place under the bed so Michael could kiss her goodnight. "Goodnight, Lupita Daddy. Goodnight, Mommy Daddy." My son and I will get through this. Somehow, we will.