There is only ONE [insert word here] in this family…

This one might actually be funny.

But one time I was arguing with my mother over my car. Basically, I bought my car through her name, working on the assumption that my credit was awful. Honestly, looking back, I have no idea why I thought this, yes, I had a lot of problems in my younger years (that’s what happens when your nmother kicks you out at 15), but I was decades past that. All I can say is: I assume I’m worthless around her.

Anyway, I paid for everything to get started. The down payment, the insurance which had to be bought outright, and all the other guff. She paid nothing at the point of sale. Then I set up a standing order (rounding up my payment to the nearest 100), to ensure the money would arrive in her account two days before the payment went out. She has no financial stake in this car. Except she technically owns it. And as someone who worked in law for 20 years, I get that’s a biggie.

Once we got to the end of the credit agreement, she would not transfer ownership of my car to me. She didn’t outright refuse, but every time I asked, there was a “reason”. I forgot. The bank was shut. (What the bank has to do with this, I don’t know.) The rude girl at the counter refused to give me the form. The rude girl at the counter gave me the wrong form. The rude girl at the counter tore up my form.

(Thematically, other women, particularly those with youth on their side, were to blame.)

After this had gone on for over a year and we had just had to pay for a brand new tire due to getting stuck in a pothole – which we could have claimed back from the council, if we could prove we owned the car – I lost my temper.

I called her a miser. That she was just clinging to my car because it was worth money and she didn’t want to let it go. (Oh, and spoilers: she has dementia and I’m her attorney. When I made this accusation, I had no idea how right I was. I just threw a word at her to express my frustration and maybe shame her into action. She’s totally a miser. She’s Scrooge McDuck, swimming in her piles of gold coins, except he seems happy about it, she never did.)

“I don’t know what that means!” she cried.

“A miser! You know, like Scrooge!” I snapped.

She looked blank. (Again, I had no idea she was in the early stages of dementia, I thought she was just being deliberately vague, like she usually did when she didn’t want to discuss something.)

“You’re a miser!” I said again. “All you do is selfishly keep money to yourself, even when it’s not yours. You’re keeping my car because you’re a miser. I want my fucking car!”

Then she hit back with the sentence she always says when accused of something awful.

“There is only one miser in this family, Dove.” [dramatic pause] “And it’s you. We’ve all discussed it.”

Obviously, miser is changed to whatever I’ve just accused her of. Child abuse. Tantrums. Bad manners. Ingratitude. Lack of kindness. You name it, she’s immediately turned it back at me, and claimed the whole family have discussed it and agreed it’s me. The delivery is identical each time. The dramatic pause is always there. The third sentence varies, always the same meaning, but sometimes there will be additions like, “Your auntie Katherine thinks you’re just awful,” or “Your cousin Judith would never do this to her mother.”

But let’s just run through that again.

Dove: You’re a miser.

nMother: I don’t know what that is. But the family and I have discussed it extensively, and even though I had never known that word before this conversation, we have all agreed that you are a miser.

*headtilt*

Why on earth was I terrified of this fucking moron for most of my life?