Bring It On

Tory and I are having relationship issues.

The girl has always had to work a little harder in the summer, fighting to keep herself motivated against the denseness of the Valley heat. But she's also always done a good job - showing off just how cold she can make the a/c, starting right up, like she'd been waiting, just waiting, for me to come and rouse her. I've mentioned before that I doubt she'll ever pass on - that at ten years old, she's still kicking like a newborn.

Apparently she feels taken for granted. At least, that's what I'm gleaning from the atrociousness of her behavior lately. To call a spade a spade, she's acting really immature, and my patience is wearing thin. If she's got a bone to pick with me, she ought to be a little more direct.

Instead, she's acting like a spoiled adolescent.

On Monday, my mother-in-law picked the boys up from camp in the afternoon, and since my sister-in-law is home for the summer, we are all juggling and sharing cars to get to and fro, so she took Tory. She called me from the house where the camp is held, because she'd gotten locked out of the car. She had left the keys in the ignition, gotten out, and closed the door behind her - and supposedly, Tory just popped the locks down for no reason at all. It took awhile, but because she'd left a window slightly cracked, they managed to break in with a hanger.

When my mother-in-law told me the story, I didn't really believe her. She was tired, and later got locked out of her house, too, so I assumed she was just having an off-day. I mean, a car doesn't typically do anything on its own initiative, let alone play tricks.

So when it did the exact same thing to me, the very next day, I was understandably humbled.

Yesterday, I got out of the car to get the kids, and I heard a low rumble that sounded a hell of a lot like, "Ha ha, I'll show you who's driving who around - you'll never underestimate me again!!" When I turned around, Tory had locked up, engine still running, parked half in the middle of the street. She was smirking. Luckily, the children were in good moods: Elan had a quick anxiety attack about us being "loaked out," but was easily shut up with a second popsicle, and Ariel decided that then was the perfect time to move towards the bushes, and take a little dump. Because, naturally, I had just thrown out the membership form for AAA, we had to have my mother-in-law leave work to meet us there with her motor club, so they could break in, an hour later. I hadn't thought to leave any windows open, so the hanger didn't work a second time.

Driving off, I silently cursed Tory. I mean, she wasn't looking good, she was acting up - in public - and it was getting embarrassing. Drugs, I wondered? Maybe she was mixing with a bad crowd in my apartment parking lot - there was a shady-looking Volvo hanging around two spots over that I didn't remember seeing before. Maybe it was just menopause, hormonal overdrive, hot-flashes, causing her to occasionally lose her normally-amicable mind. Whatever the case, it was really inexcusable, and I was pissed.

And then, as if reading my thoughts, she started locking and unlocking the doors, over and over, while I was driving! Like a woman possessed. I could have sworn I heard her roaring with maniacal laughter, as I floundered to regain control. Honestly! There were children in the car!

I always assumed that Tory was appreciative that someone as young as me still drives her, and that she'd aim to please me, as a result. But you know what happens when we ASS-U-ME.

They say there are always warning signs. Evidently, it's a slippery slope from when they first flash that "Service Engine" sign at you. And the "Door Open" light, when all the doors are tightly shut. And when you neglect to nourish them when they're low on oil. And when you ignore the new stubbornness of the power-steering, as well as the sporadic lurches and lunges forward, despite your lack of acceleration.

And when, I suppose, you forget to give them the positive reinforcement, the pats on the back, the telling-them-they're-pretty that becomes so much more necessary, the older they get.

These were the indicators. And I did nothing. Too little, too late. And now Tory is in rehab, at Kastore Body Shop, and I'll have no communication with her for days. She's getting a full work-up. And I'm terrified of the diagnosis.

Because, quite frankly, I don't want to put one more cent into that ungrateful bitch.