Traveling Back in Time with Mom-4 days in Delray Beach

The time I'm traveling back through is my own - I am reverting, becoming a child, enduring my mother's attacks.
Did I tell you what we were doing in Delray Beach? Bill and I are shopping, with my mother, for an apartment that she can use in the winter - an apartment WE will pay for. This is happening because, apparently, I have confused emotional business with family business. She likes Kings Point (best clubhouse) and Lakes of Delray, the community she used to own in.
I had misgivings about Kings Point from the beginning. The last time I was there, my father was talking about suicide. I remember the place as dismal, dingy and forlorn, with parking places up against patios and garbage bins in every path. These memories surely were colored by my sad experience there, so I'll keep an open mind, especially since it's so affordable. We house-shop, and I say, "What do you think of this apartment, Mom?" and she answers, "Why do you wear such low-cut blouses? Is this how you want people to think of you? You can't wear your bikinis here you know, the men will go wild!" We spent most of a day moving between car, oppressive heat, cookie-cutter apartments (they were perfectly nice inside), more heat, fatty food, etc. until Bill decided the development looks like a barracks. I could see that my mother was crestfallen, but I had to tell her I agreed. I was, after one day of shopping, furious at her for her comments, furious at myself if I endured them, more furious at myself when I barked back, which I certainly did. On day 2, we looked at Lakes of Delray. I heard more of her litany of criticism, her opinions about what was the best investment I could make (the apartment that she wanted most), her praise of my darling husband who is, in fact, a saint. I found an apartment I liked, he liked, she liked. Guess what? My mother knows the owner from back when she lived in the building across the way. She wants to know if she should call her old friend, or let the broker deal with her. If she calls what should she say? If her friend sees our names on the contract and calls my mother, what should she say? I was now under pressure from the broker to take action. My mother announced she should be the one interviewed by the condo association, since she's a former tenant. She's almost totally deaf. This is not amusing. She would not hear what was asked, she would guess about what she was supposed to be hearing, and answer the question she thought she was asked. Don't think that would go well at all. She wants to advise me about what to pay. She wants to know if I think the real estate attorney is any good - while we're sitting in the chair at the attorney's office. She is amazed at the cost of attorneys. She wants to know why I have my jacket on when it's so hot. She wants to know what she said that's so terrible, because I have stopped responding, and I'm glaring straight ahead.
The next day, we will visit Aunt Rose in Melbourne. This is supposed to be a happy surprise for my mother and my aunt - Bill and I reserved the day for second-looks, but we found an apartment we can all be satisfied with, so the day is free. My mother is truly surprised when we announce our plans the night before. Naturally, we need to call ahead. My mother insists that we tell Rose to make us lunch. My mother is usually the one who hosts her sister; now she wants to be paid back. I ask my aunt, now about 87 years old if she can make us lunch. She is clearly flustered. She has no food in the house except tuna, which I can't stand. I want to pick a pizza up, to make things easy, but Mom's standing next to me as I'm on the phone, telling me it's Rose's turn to make lunch - nothing else will do. And so I insist. After our two hour trip, we arrive, and Rose seems exhausted - she went to the store that morning, in the heat and bought us a roast chicken and some potato salad. When we sit down to eat, the two of them begin to bicker - old angers and dissapointments begin as a thread in the background as they chatter about nothing important, and explode, finally, into an outright shouting fight - they are angry, then crying, hurting each other, and pieces of potato salad are flying out of their mouths, and they seem so terribly, terribly sad and frail and old, and saddest for me, I see between them what I'm feeling between me and my mother.
Three hours after we arrive, we are heading back to Delray and my mother wants to know if she is like her sister, mean and unkind, she means, and I can't say, because she's been mean and unkind to me for so long, and I feel only meanness and unkindness toward her at that moment.
It's Monday, our last day in Florida, when I see the attorney, make the offer, run back and forth with copies, inventory contents of the apartment I want, and finally get on the plane to go home with mom and with Bill, who's been trying to keep me from going off the deep end. I am hoping this deal will fall through (it probably will), and although I have a second apartment in mind, I'm probably not going to make an offer when the time comes.
I can't believe, after all these years, that we trigger each other the way we do - we set each other off like bombs.

I'm shell shocked. I'm back at work, and I just spoke to my daughter on the phone - telling her I hope that in whatever ways I've hurt her, whatever errors in judgment I've made, I hope she can forgive me. She wants to know if it isn't, in any case, time I let go of my anger toward my mother, but I can't say I've grown up enough to do that - unlike my own daughter. This wasn't just four days in Delray Beach looking for a vacation home. It was a very expensive, exhausting and embarrassing trip from my present to my lingering past. I'm still a child with my mother, and this was the worst trip of my life.