Marianne is so mad at me. She’s doing a good job of keeping a lid on it, but I know she’s simmering away underneath. I guess I probably owe her an apology, but honestly I’m kind of offended that she’s changed the rules of our bond without copying me in to the memo.
Is a car really that much more off-limits than, say, my beloved Action Mate doll that she lost at the beach when we were seven? I might add that she didn’t tell me this had happened, or even that she’d borrowed the doll, until two weeks later. Plus, she knew very well that I’d saved my pocket money for months to buy that thing, and how thrilled I was that my other dolls now had a suitable consort (sorry, Kenny, but you never did cut the mustard).
Point is, I may have borrowed Marianne’s car without asking her, and I may have had a minor altercation with a post box while I was driving it. But how was I to know that this was stepping over the line? It’s not like I’m not going to pay for the car smash repairs. Mornington mechanics are top notch, and they’ll have it sorted before you can say ‘BFFs forever’. So how is any of this a big deal?
According to Marianne, it’s not so much about the incident itself as it is about my presumptuous attitude. Look who’s talking! She’s the one assuming that I know what rules she wants to play by. I’m going to throw her a bone by gifting her a new set of tyres as a surprise, which will hopefully cool her down enough to not explode in the middle of Mornington. Tyres aren’t cheap, so hopefully she’ll accept my peace offering.
Maybe I should throw a sincere verbal apology into the bargain. At the end of the day, that’s probably more her language than extravagant favours, but I’ve already requested the tyre service so she’ll just have to accept it.