My Mother. What a piece of work she is.
Bless her. (All you Southerners know what that means).
She is, and I don't mean this in a negative way, extremely selfish. It's just a matter of fact. A statement of truth. You can check the record.
All day, every day, it is aaaaaall about my Mother. Who lives with (with, not near) my Already-Nominated-For-Sainthood Sister, a safe 600 miles straight north of here.
Anyway, my mother does not drive. Well, she drives, but she won't travel further than 10 miles from the house and she'll only make right-hand turns. No left turns. Ever. For any reason. Not only is she not a Defensive Driver, she is a Defenseless Driver.
But you can't tell her that. Arriving home and pulling into the garage, she has hit the door frame with her car - shearing the mirror from the body like fleece meeting a razor - no fewer than four times. In 20,000 miles. Four. Times. But she thinks she is the World's Greatest Driver because she has MIRACULOUSLY never been involved in an accident out on the road.
Well, hell, if I'd only traveled 20,000 miles in 12 years - did I mention her car is a 1998? She bought it new and it only has 20k on it - I'd have a stellar record, too.
So after the most recent shearing - last week - Mother had an argument with my Brother-in-Law (owner of the injurious garage). During the altercation my Mother stated for the record that she is a better driver than my BIL. My BIL the cop. The patrolman. The guy who drives around for a LIVING.
She absolutely demanded that she is a superior driver to EVERYONE and submitted as evidence her untarnished traffic record. Upon concluding her argument, BIL forbid her from ever transporting his offspring anywhere ever again. EVER again.
This means St. Sister now has to chauffeur everyone, everywhere. She called me this morning just to tell me how much she hates me. She was sitting outside the ophthalmologist's office where she'd deposited Mother for her cataract surgery pre-physical. (Yes, the Driver of the Year has cataracts).
It seems that this morning, my sister's mother (I call her "your mother" while my sister refers to her as "your mother") let St. Sister know it was time to leave for her appointment by marching herself out to the driveway, purse on arm, and standing beside the car, waiting for someone to let her in. Sister has absolutely no idea how long her mother stood there.
She was ready to go RIGHT now. Never mind that it was an hour before the appointment.
When Mother is ready to go, everybody'd better by-God be ready to go. Just like she was ready for me to take her to dinner at 4-freaking-30 when I was visiting last month. It doesn't matter that I'd just walked out of the shower. There she stood. Purse on arm.
I don't say this often, but thank GOD I live in Alabama.
I honestly don't blame Sissy for hating me. I'd really question her judgement if she didn't.