The Hell Of Being The Youngest Child: Funniest Ish Ever

My sister, Bridgette, and I are 5 years apart. It doesn't seem like much now yet when we were younger, it seemed like lightyears apart. My sister, likely very annoyed with the fact that she now had to share the attention of our parents, was hell bent on a mission to destroy me.

I was a yellow baby with slanted eyes. I was fat and unhappy most of the time.

My sister asked my parents if they could take me back for a "real black child" and not this fat sumo who had Asian parents somewhere in a panic over their lost baby.

I am sure when I was a newborn, there had to be some sort of flutter in Bridgette's heart that made her proud to be a big sister. Yet, she somehow figured out a way to burn that good feeling out of her soul and antagonize me.

When I was old enough to sit in a highchair, she and my cousin Reggie (who was close to Bridgette's age) would stand there with sewing needles poking me. I'd scream bloody murder and my mom would come running to save me only to see that nothing visibly was wrong.

The duo regretted the day they left one of the sewing needles on my tray. I grabbed it and jammed it high and far into Reggie's ass cheeks as he stood near my highchair.

Needless to day, the sewing needles never made an appearance again.

As we got older, I was 7 and Bridgette was 12, my parents would venture off to go shopping leaving us two home alone together. It was like a trick bag because you never knew what Bridgette had in store for me.

My stomach would sink as I watched my parents back out of the driveway.

"We're going to pretend we're on Soul Train today." Bridgette quietly said.

I know you're likely thinking that pretending to be a Soul Train dancer should be fun.

Turns out, Bridgette really just wanted to try out this dance in which I would bend forward and reach my arms back between my legs. My sister was then going to grab my hands, jerk them upward and flip me over.

Easy right?

You probably figured out in the first sentence of the description of this dance move, that it wouldn't work.

I thought it wouldn't, but Bridgette was 100 percent sure we would land it.

Turns out that Bridgette half-ass jerked my hands and I went face first to the carpeted floor.

Yet, the momentum continued and I got a big ass rug burn on the side of my head. I laid there in my face plant screaming with my arms tucked out between my legs.

The cake topper was when we were home alone and we sat on the floor watching TV. The phone rang and Bridgette ran to answer it.

I watched her as her face became distressed and she glared at me with a look of concern. She then lowered head and whispered into the phone to whomever was on the other line. She nodded as if she was acknowledging what the person was saying on the phone.

After 3 minutes, she politely placed the phone on the hook and glared at me again. She told me that I might want to sit down.

I could feel a lump rise in my throat.

She slowly and carefully said, "Mom and Dad are dead. I am your new mom now."

I howled and burst into tears.

"Get in there are wash those goddammed dishes.", Bridgette yelled before sitting back in front of the TV with a bag of chips.

I washed those dishes with tears streaming down my face. I contemplating running away.

Shortly after, my parents came into the house alive and well.

What an asshole!

Fast forward to now, Bridgette and I have a great relationship. We are very close and our families are close. We laugh heartily about the pranks pulled and joke about it at every family get together.

If you are wondering, my mental status is okay but I owe that to many revenge pranks I played on my sister after the dead parents incident.

Throwing thumbtacks in her bedroom right before Bridgette walked in and dumping garlic powder in her bath water were great retaliation. Destroying her cassette tapes by stretching the ribbon inside until it was near breaking point, then winding the ribbon back into the tape resulting in everything sounding like chipmunks were rapping the vocals was my favorite.

When I hear children complain about their siblings and I just laugh because I've been there. It's all apart of being the youngest child, I guess.

Anyhow, thanks so much for reading and leave your experiences in the comments below. Find me on Facebook and follow me on Twitter @TheRealJoyRene.

Yep, you're welcome!!

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Tags: chicago, child, funniest, sinegar

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