Visiting my cousin in Hobart is always… well, a bit of a thing. To put it diplomatically, Estelle is the kind of person who really shines in small doses. Hanging out with her for a long weekend, on the other hand, does not shed the best light on her. In less diplomatic terms, she really drives me bonkers.
Why? Let’s start with her tendency to be a bit overly familiar. Honestly, the woman has no boundaries to speak of when it comes to family. We grew up down the road from each other and regularly pretended to be sisters as kids. Borrowing each others stuff without asking was the norm, and I didn’t think twice about it when it was a doll or a video game cartridge.
When the borrowed item in question is my car, however, that’s another story – particularly when she somehow manages to run it into a post box on the other side of town. I’m not joking. She called me last night at 2am to tell me as much from the side of the road in Mornington. Car service centres, not being open at that hour (obviously), were not returning her calls pleading for a remote mechanic to come and get her out of her mess.
She therefore wanted me to come over in a taxi and escort her home. Turns out she’d busted one of the front lights, and didn’t think she should be driving without it. I capitulated because I felt bad about leaving her to fend for herself in Mornington. Auto electrics and car headlight repairs, unfortunately, aren’t my area of expertise, so we had to leave the car there overnight.
Fair cop about not wanting to drive with a busted light, but how about opening with an apology for making off with my car without asking in the first place? Some serious grovelling would be far from inappropriate in this situation.