June worries way too much, and it’s starting to get kind of annoying. Ever since I got that speeding ticket, she’s had me filed as the delinquent sibling. For the love of god, it was one time, and it was only because Jeffrey was screaming his head off in the back seat about needing to go to the potty NOW. Let me tell you, getting pulled over didn’t help that situation one little bit. I definitely learnt my lesson.
My sister doesn’t have kids, so she doesn’t get it. That would be fine if she wasn’t forever holding everyone else’s parental inadequacies over their heads. Yes, June, I realise that road safety takes precedence over the minimising the fallout of an impending nappy situation. But sometimes, in the heat of the moment, it doesn’t seem that way.
I realise that she’s largely concerned about the state of my car, which hasn’t been looked at by a mechanic for a while, and I appreciate her concern. But she doesn’t have to go on about it when all I’m doing is trying to get some errands done around Brighton. Tyre replacement quotes and recommended regularity of brake services aren’t exactly my favourite topic of conversation when I’m literally running to pick up Bobby up from trumpet lessons.
Yesterday she slipped me the number of a mobile mechanic. Brighton is not that big a place, so I couldn’t really see why that’d be necessary, but it’s making more sense the more I think about it. I mean, earlier today I heard a weird noise coming from the steering column while I had both boys and a week’s worth of groceries with me. It turned out to have just been a stray bit of playdough stuck to my keys, but it was still a reality check.
I do take June’s point – if the car dies, I’m not going to be able to do any errands.