When I was a little kid I would write my sister notes in red crayon, my bubble letters oozing drops of Crayola blood, and place them on her pillow. They would say things like, “Don’t go to sleep tonight. You don’t want to know what will happen to you if you do.” Or maybe, “I’ll kill you in your sleep if you dare open your eyes.”
I had no idea how much this actually terrified my little sister. She tells me that she would stay awake as long as she could, her eyes fixed, not blinking, on the door.
Before you get all sentimental and feeling sorry for her, please know that she used to beat me up regularly and once clocked me upside the head with a rotary phone.
6 comments ↓
ah..hilarious.
Maaaan, you seem to have had a childhood that wasn’t exactly whiskers-on-kittens.
When my brother and I were growing up there were a few days outta the year where the parental units would have guests over for the evening. On such evenings there were times where my bedroom would become the guest bedroom and I’d wind up sleeping in his room. Myerk had a bunk bed, which at this point in our lives was still assembled as a bunk bed and not as the set of twin beds it would become later on. On one such particular evening I was settled into the bottom bunk, unable to fall asleep, staring up into the springs of the top bunk, waiting for slumber to fall about me. I lay there and lay there, listening to the tree frogs and the front yard, then noticing a strange accompaniment to the sounds of nature. A steady whistling, rising and falling in such measured time that I soon realized it was the production of my very own clogged nasal passages. Eager to rid myself of this distraction I went about clearing the obstruction as any child genius would — with my well clipped fingers. Ewww gross you say? Well — at least I didn’t eat it. No my friends - hiding the evidence in such a manner would serve only to ruin this tale. Instead — without the assistance of a tissue in hand - I methodically went about scraping off the nostril offspring onto the wall the bed was set against. Pick, slide, up and down if it got fussy — smushing up those little boogers until the finger was clear. I don’t know how long this went on, but it did the job - I eventually fell asleep. The next morning I awoke to my mother hovering nearby with a veiny forehead and bulging eyes — not yet able to unleash the anger that was boiling through her blood. I was still only half awake - so I didn’t quite understand what was happening - but through great motions that would make any well-trained mime envious - my eyes found their way to the wall. There, smeared against the white paint was the largest work of abstract art I had ever seen in our house. It was, well, revolting.
When pressed on the issue, I denied and lied while my brother yelled foul…I had actually forgotten what I had done only to realize later when my brother, sponge in hand - promised bodily harm for blaming him. So you see Brit — I do not feel sorry for your sister — for these actions that we take in our youth are the memories we come to cherish in the, well, afternoon siesta’s of our lives.
Are you my sister?
I clocked her upside the head with a rotary phone.
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