I don't know how to say this without erupting.
Not only did my mother and her friend search through her garage last night for her passport, my mother went to her old, not-yet-cleared condo looking this evening. They/she could not find it.
I had called her this afternoon, saying that she could get by on a driver's license and a birth certificate. She interrupted me to say that her birth certificate is with her passport. And some blueberry tea, of all things.
She said it wasn't lost, because she knew where it was. That's not the truth; she had a gestural memory of putting in the outer pocket of a suitcase. I am realizing she made the whole thing up.
She first searched the garage last December. I told her to just get a new one; my renewal only took 8 days. Then J's new one only took 12. I even reminded her last month; she'd probably have time to get a new one before the trip.
No, the senile bat "knew" where it was, even if she'd looked once without luck.
I can see arriving there Sunday evening and spending the night in the garage. I can't even clean my own house; I do not want to sift through hers.
She said I was probably happy, not having to put up with her on the boat. Oh my goodness - don't tempt me, woman. I don't fall for it when she goads me. While we'd be happy to each have our own beds, I told her I dreaded a little having to keep up with J by myself on the ship, that I wanted to divide duties a little - going to the pool, to the rock wall, to the soft serve ice cream, to the top deck - he develops a routine just like one of our cats. I was half lying, half telling the truth. It's hard to tap dance when you're so pissed.
In closing, she told me that I was probably mad. I replied that I was boiling and it was taking everything I had to hold my tongue. "Then you feel the same way I do," she calmly lamented. "We'll find it."
Why does everything with her have to be difficult?