#AtoZ : I am Not Spoilt!

This morning, my middle child posted a Facebook Buzz Feed Article called,  Were You A Spoilt Child? Readers are asked to tick off everything they owned from Slip 'N Slides to a Darts Board. At the end of the test, the post will tell you whether or not you were spoiled.

The following conversation ensued: 

#GBE2: Siblings

I was told I was part of the family because of a trade with the Indians. The tribe received beads, while my family got a little papoose with a red spot on her forehead. That birthmark was the true coloring of an Indian girl, me. It might have been okay if my brother and sisters had told me they were teasing; however, this stunt continued for years with little me believing it all. Okay, so I was gullible, but isn't that part of being tiny among the mighty sibs? 

They had an 8½, 6½, and 4 year jump on me, and they used it to their advantage. I was their trained mouthpiece in acquiring what Mom and Dad would have never agreed to. As the Chevrolet ventured down the road, with the three of them shoulder-to-shoulder in the backseat while I sat wedged between the adults in the front, he-who-must-not-be-named would point out the window and say, "Look, Joycie. What do you see?"

Next came my hopping dance, "McDonalds! McDonalds! Let's go to McDonalds!" Sure enough the car would slide into the lot for hamburgers, fries, and chocolate shakes, which no one would have gotten if one who wasn't so stinkin' cute had asked.

I was also subjected to constant bouts of tickling from He-who-must-not-be-named and TV high jacking, too. I don't know which was worse: being held by the arms and tortured or forced to watch Bonanza. Tickling is a definite form of abuse, especially when Gilligan's Island is on, but I was too little to stop it. 

Then there were the other set ups. 

"If you tear your blanket, 

you'll have many." 

"Why don't you go ask Mr. Slatkin,

the famous conductor neighbor, 

for his autograph early in the morning?"

Laughter as a piece of liver is shoved in my mouth 

or 

hearing fart sounds as I bite into a chicken butt.

He-who-must-not-be-named gets angry when I write about him, but he was by far the most lethal sibling. I wonder if he would have subjected me to constant torture if he knew that one day I'd have a blog.

Taunting Siblings #AtoZ

Most people know that the majority of U.S. presidents were first born children, but I bet you didn't know that most comedians were born last. So, since I'm four positions down from the presidency, I guess I'll continue to write my humor blog. Today's post features those taunting siblings that I'm lucky enough to have grown up with.

Sweet, Defenseless, Little Girl 
Being Viciously Attacked by Older Sibling

Being the baby of the family had it's pros and cons. On the bright side, no one made me wear dresses to school everyday while insisting I was too young to shave my legs. Also, I didn't have to beg, pray, or bake a German Chocolate Cake to get my ears pierced. I simply asked once and went to a gynecologist to get it done. You read that right. Twelve year old me sitting among the pregnant women and taking in evil glances from assuming folks. I also got to go to camp, France, and anywhere else I wanted because my sibs had broken in my parents big time.

On the negative side, I wore a powder-blue, polyester gym suit that said, "BEP" on the front because $7.00 was too much to pay for a pretty red one with my own initials. Plus, four positions down the birth order meant I had to search hard to find the one accomplishment that no one had done before. Would you believe I found it in sports? How original! But worst of all, everyone remembers all my little kid embarrassments, but I have nothing on them! Except the ability to report their various abuses.

Don't Look Up, Barb!

 Barb used to pay me 20¢ to go to the A & P store after school everyday. I'd buy one candy bar for her and get whatever I wanted for myself. After five years of that, we both weighed in at a whopping 470 pounds, but boy was that chocolate great! As for taunting me, she wasn't totally innocent either. She once backed me into a corner with a whip she'd won at the carnival. It's okay. After I fetched her a bone in my mouth, she left me alone.

Look at those red tights!

As for Bev, she reads my blog so I shouldn't tell you how she pinched one of my boobs and told me that it would be smaller than the other one. Thanks to Bev, I have to special order all my bras. One side's an A while the other is a Double D. Dang! Dang! Why'd she pinch me? She used to love to push my gullible button too. In fact, she told me she was going to give me a shot and pulled out a bottle of alcohol. That's okay too. I simply fainted and Mom screamed, "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?"

Even though these three have sometimes caused me grief, I feel sorry for only children who never learn how to be good fighters. So this one's dedicated to those taunting siblings. How did your sibs torture you?

I'll see you tomorrow when I participate in the Six Sentence Sunday challenge. http://www.sixsunday.blogspot.com