One of the many sisterly wrongs that my sister, Meghan, has still not forgiven me for is the time when I was five (which would have made her three) and I cut all the hair off her Barbie doll. When she discovered the damage, she was much more upset than I had anticipated she’d be, and I knew I had to think fast to keep her from running to my parents and getting me in trouble.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “It’ll grow back!”
I felt a tiny bit of guilt (I’m not completely heartless), but I was off the hook, so it was all good. Except that the hair never did grow back, of course, and to this day Meghan, who apparently has the memory of an elephant, loves to use that particular incident as evidence that she spent her entire childhood being victimized by her older sister.
Fast forward to my recent garage sale, when, through the magic of fresh batteries, I managed to entice my niece into falling love with the DemiGoddesses’ old Furbys. They both went home with Maggie (and, by association, my poor, unsuspecting sister, Meghan). I felt a tiny bit of guilt (again, not completely heartless), but I gave them to her for free, of course, and ultimately, those nasty, noisy, talking monstrosities (the Furbys, not my sister and her daughter) were gone from my house, so it was all good.
Except that this is what happened after that.
Yes, I am evil. But you’d think she’d learn.