For the Pedestrians and Coffee Drinkers on Wellington Street: An Apology, An Explanation

Last week we had a particularly bad morning—Jessie and I. I think the pedestrians and coffee drinkers on Wellington Street—who witnessed a car suddenly swerving to the curb and braking and a young legging-clad woman jumping out, yelling in furious anger and then slamming the door shut—might agree. So might those inside the trendy stores who just may have seen the rock-clench of my jaw and the full-body energy stomp executed by Jessie on her way to rehearsal. Where I had “kindly” driven her, as a favour, in an effort to get her to rehearsal on time in a rainstorm.  

I am learning that you must NEVER, EVER do a favour to an adolescent-brained being. Or at least only deliver the favour with the understanding that it will immediately and forever more be held against you in some Freudian warp that has morphed you into an evil car-driving, dinner-making, message-taking, cell-phone-bill-paying necromancer whose only intention is to entrap the adolescent-brained being forever in some hell that resembles, uh, let’s see, a house with people who love you and feed you and drive you places and ask you every now and then to do your laundry.

Okay. I am not being totally honest here. It’s true; I did drive Jessie when she usually takes the bus. But I think I also took advantage of the captive audience bit and may have nagged her. About getting to bed on time (so she would wake up on time and get to the bus on time), or about writing things down so she doesn’t forget them, or about being responsible, or about how if she doesn’t get her act together the only place she might be able to move out to is a GROUP HOME. . . and well, that’s probably how it went.

So when she told me that I wasn’t the boss of her and that she could do whatever she wanted and I should just deal with it, I may have pulled over to the curb a bit too quickly. Where I told her, calmly, to get out of the car. (I did check to make sure that we were close to the dance studio and that she could find her way there.) Where she heard that very dangerous calm tone and knew to step out. Where she had impeccable timing that allowed her to yell angrily at the top of her lungs “I LOVE YOU. SO THERE!!” just as she slammed to door shut. Where the pedestrians and coffee drinkers on Wellington Street (referred to at the beginning) got their mid-day entertainment.

Three blocks up the road, my cell phone binged with a text message. Jessie, as always, had the final word:

Notice how she was able to cap "NOT," just to make sure she was being clear.