Wednesday, September 24, 2008

The Sibs

My siblings are cruel, horrible, heartless beings who deserve to be locked in a cubicle that alternately streams "Carrot Top Performs Notable Monologues" and "96 Unforgettable Hours of Sweating to the Oldies."

Case in Point 1

After reading the first case of sibling cruelty, you might think, "Wow, Emily, your sister really is a raging harpy." And I would have to agree. But you might mistakenly follow that with, "Well, at least your brother treats you well." Gentle reader, don't be as easily duped as I.

It all began when I was but a wee tot. Born with a naturally sweet disposition, I couldn't have anticipated the danger of having siblings three and seven years older. While I cooed happily in my playpen, they plotted my destruction from afar. Their object: to exploit my naivete. Their plan: to build my trust slowly and then tear it down in one shining moment. As you already know, my sister accomplished that with Jim Hensen's aid. My brother, on the other hand, called upon the help of Katy. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

My siblings' plan unfolded slowly. At all times they tested me. When we were very young, I a mere toddler, Mother and Father unfeelingly threw Mark and me in one tub to clean us, like Pfaltzgraff in a Whirlpool. Erin offered to "help" Mom with our bath times, a sure sign of impending trouble. At these times, she and Mark were at their peak, a duo of destruction for my poor young soul. Mark would soften my nerves by handing me toys to play with and patting me on the head and telling me I was sweet. Then he'd say something like, "Hey Emmy, stand up and hand me that towel behind you." Obediently I complied, and then Erin swooped in to zerbert my poor, exposed rear - Cosby style. I'm sorry for the graphic images depicted here. I'm still trying to work through the pain, and I really think this will help. Upon receiving said raspberry, I would whoop and holler with frustration and then sit down firmly, determined never to be tricked again. A few minutes later Mark would reel me in with flattery and bribes, and then I'd fall for the exact same setup. They performed this routine multiple times every bath time. I cried and lectured and pouted; they laughed with unbridled glee. Still, my trusting nature said every time, "Maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time they're telling the truth."

Fast forward seven or eight years. Erin had already revealed her true character with the Animal incident. Mark, on the other hand, had gotten on my good side. He took me to the arcade. We went to movies. He bought me slices of Anthony's pizza. He took me to the playground. Yes, he was the Jem to my Scout, the Laertes to my Ophelia, the John Boy to my Elizabeth.

Or the Bart to my Lisa. We had a traitor friend, Katy, who spent a lot of time with us in Oklahoma. When Mark met Katy, well, there was no hope for little Emily. On a bright, sunny day in Oklahoma (which I actually don't remember because my defense mechanisms blocked the pain from my mind and also because I have the worst memory known to man), Katy, Mark, and I were playing in the backyard at Mark and my house. There in the yard, K & M hatched their devious plan to finally cash in on all that trust Mark had been storing up. It started with a suggestion.

"Hey, I know! How about we play a game?" Katy said.

This sounded good to me.

"We'll take turns tying each other to the clothesline pole with this rope, and then we'll time each other to see who gets out the fastest."

This, perplexingly, still sounded good to me.

"Mark, you go first."

"Ok."

Katy and I then tied Mark to the clothesline pole. With the help of my complete lack of knot-tying abilities and Katy's ulterior motives, Mark quickly freed himself. Then came the inevitable.

"Hey Emmy, why don't you go next?"

"Yeah, ok."

Several minutes later I was tied to a clothesline pole in the dry, Oklahoma heat, struggling to free myself from bonds of torture. Meanwhile, Mark and Katy were inside the house...watching TV.

Yes, I had been duped again. Mark carried out his devious plans, and had it not been for my mother's watchful eyes, I might still be there to this day.

I say it again: Carrot Top, Richard Simmons, cubicle.

9 comments:

Mary Brooks said...

ha.

Elizabeth Glass-Turner: named Bitty by quirky Canadian said...

What's this about muppets?

Anonymous said...

I pulled the same "tie ya up to a pole trick" on a friend in middle school. That friend was my best friend, Curtis Reid Rogers. One day outside of the old barns at Southland; Curt, and our friend, Moose, and I were waiting on rides from our parents; knowing our parents were notorious for being very late, we decided to spend the time doing something other then shooting the bull. So we told Curt to stand next to the pole (which was an iron support outside a barn), and that we'd tie him up to see if he could get out and we'd take turns. I knew we didn't have enough time to take turns so I sprung my plan into action. Once we had Curt tied to the pole I knew he wouldn't be able to free himself since I'm pretty decent with knots. After being tied up, we hurled insults and rocks at him (cruel, yes), but that wasn't enough (we were bored), so we decided to cover him up with sheets of plywood that were leaning against the barn. This was all good and fun having him completely hidden, but then a truck with a trailer pulled up and told us he needed to back the trailer up into the spot that we were playing in (he didn't know Curt was hidden behind the plywood, and Curt didn't know what was going on). So we guided him on back into the spot, but we didn't realize that the man wasn't very good with a trailer and one small turn later he had backed it into the plywood pretty abruptly and Curt let out a yell of impending doom. The man was taken aback by the yell and stopped thankfully. Poor Curt was almost crushed to death, but Moose and I were just cackling away. In the end he was fine and we released him before our parents showed up and nobody got in any trouble (on this occasion anyway).

Anyway, I also have two older siblings 3 and 7 years apart, but both are boys (sorta). My experience with my oldest Brother Aaron was very different than yours with your sister. Aaron was almost always very nice to me and usually protected me from Corey; of course there were many situations that he had an obligation as an older brother to tickle me 'til I ran out of breath or to just pick on me for being little, but for the most part we had a good relationship (probably because we didn't get to spend that much time together being 8 years apart in school). Corey, however, was a different story. I could spend days recalling the sheer amount of things he did to aggravate me (as nice as he is to everyone else in the world, he knew exactly what buttons to push to make me angry, of which there were quite a few). But I'll just relate my first encounter with my siblings as caught on camera and retold by my father.

Within just a few hours of being born and passed around from doctor to Mother, mother to father, from father to nurse and other various grandparents and relatives; my brother Aaron (age 7) decided it was his turn to hold me. So in the lobby of the hospital, my father sat Aaron and Corey (age 2.5) on a bench and handed me to Aaron and got out the camera for a sentimental picture. While Aaron was holding me, Corey decided that 20 seconds was long enough and reached over and grabbed me by the head and tried to yank me from Aaron's arms (which is the portion frozen in the picture), Aaron of course yanks back and now I'm the rope for tug'o'war and was dropped on the bench in the ensuing struggle for sibling domination. Dad drops the camera and rushes over to pick up his son (I probably was crying but I won't admit it, also this incident resulting in growing an inch with a few hours). Pain is my first encounter with my brother Corey, and probably why I resented him for so long.
Also some sibling would enjoy being locked in a cubicle and forced to listen to Carrot Top and Richard Simmons, that's part of what makes them so insufferable.
-Bubba

Anonymous said...

wow that was much longer than I thought.

Six in the Mix said...

Still crying/laughing. Never heard that one, Woo. Ha!

Katy said...

So a while ago, my sister tells me, “Erin has a blog. Here’s the address, in case you want to see her kids.” Of course I wanted to see her cute kids. A little snooping later, and what do you know? I find my name marred and my positively golden reputation smeared to oblivion before the entire world wide web! At least you didn’t sentence me to a Carrot Top/Richard Simmons infested cubicle (even if I deserve it)! I can’t believe you don’t actually remember that. And I really can’t believe that I can’t remember Mark and I getting into any significant trouble for it! You know, I was a part of the Anthony’s pizza slices (and let’s not forget bottles of Clearly Canadian) too. I guess pointing that out only adds to my guilt, though.

Ah, that was a brilliant (awful, mean, horrible) trick! If it makes you feel any better, Jen used to steal my towel when I got out of the tub and lock me naked in the closet to be eaten by spiders. And my dad convinced me that Pig Latin was the native language of his hometown . . . in Texas. Plus, you totally got Mark and I back by telling on us for hopping the Base fence to explore that burned-down house. I DO remember getting in trouble for that!

I hope you don’t mind my stalking; your blog’s great! It’s good to see you guys are doing well!

In honor of Mark’s nicknaming habit,

Moray Eagle (aka Superbowl)

MARK and LORI said...

My memory of this event is foggy. I kind of remember the tying you to a pole thing, but I don't remember watching TV while you rotted in the heat. I'm sure it happened, I just don't remember. I guess it didn't have quite the impact on me that it had on you.

It's really Erin's fault. She is the one who taught me how to torture the younger sibling. She led by example as evidenced in all the home videos.

Moray Eagle. That was a good one.

Katy said...

You know, I'm a little foggy on the watching TV part too. I vaguely remember some talk about leaving you there while we went to the movies, but I think we were just trying to scare you. Whatever the case, I think blaming Erin is a great idea! Jen should probably bear some of the blame too. I'm certain she planted the seeds in my brain. Ask anyone; I was the sweet one!

P.S. I said "Mark and I" twice when I should've said "me." Yikes! I have an English degree!

Anon said...

Of course I wrote an ode to my slow cooker, what do you do to yours, sing sonnets?? (roll eyes)