Category: Childhood
Harry Potter curses family; hero mom saves day
Author’s Note:
If you find any Harry Potter books in the Yellowstone or Clark Fork Rivers, please message me. The running water should have exorcised any evil spirits by now.
I discuss more of this story as a guest on the podcast The Real Weird Sisters, a Harry Potter themed podcast. Listen to the podcast here!
The Naked Barbie Incident
Growing up, there were two types of dolls—American Girls and Barbies.
The American Girls resembled real girls. They looked my age and had accessories, like eyeglasses and four-poster beds.
They were boring.
This is where Barbie came in.
With Barbie’s heaving breasts, high heels, and made-up face, she was DTF.
Barbie changed the way I played with dolls. I could switch from tea with the American Girls to a Barbie and Ken bang session—all in one afternoon.
Discretion was key.
I could have played Barbies in private to avoid the charade, but I preferred to play in the living room. In our family of six, the living room had all the action. I wasn’t about to miss out for the sake of decorum.
Plus “boundaries” aren’t really my thing.
The coast was NOT clear.
My siblings, who are normal, sometimes opted to play alone in their rooms.
I didn’t understand it.
Melissa was especially good at locking out family—me in particular.
I hated being left out and desperately wanted to know what Melissa was doing in there.
One day, I hatched a brilliant plan.
I artfully dramatized my departure.
My mother took forever to get the hint.
Despite my mother’s meddling, the plan remained on track.
I began to sprint.
At top speed, I launched my 60-pound self against the door.
Shoulder bruised, but high on adrenaline, I scanned my surroundings.
My eyes locked with Melissa’s, a look of horror etched on her face.
In front of her was Ken, lying naked on top of Barbie in the four-poster bed. An American Girl doll lay by the wayside.
As quickly as I arrived, Melissa threw me out, slamming the door behind me.
We spent the reminder of our childhood pretending The Incident never happened.
I never looked at that boring four-poster bed the same.
Oldest sister found dead; real tragedy occurs when middle sister assumes leadership role
I had a family of six until Melissa kicked the can.
My sister Melissa was short like my mom, blonde like my dad and when she was younger, she liked to make naked Barbies have sex.
My siblings and I were never given the option to dislike one another, which prompted us to grow unnaturally close. Before Melissa died, our roles in the family were clearly defined by birth order.
Joe still needs his diaper changed.
It took me years of relentless teasing to break my brother. Joe and I played fun games together, like me teasing him and him asking me to stop.
“Cut it out!” he would scream.
Joe would finally walk away.
Once his back turned, I dropped his possessions.
My fingers moved in rapid scissor motion. Cutting it out, I murmured: “cut, cut, cut…”
He would shout:
But I was always doing the scissors.
As a middle child, my role included skirting my responsibilities.
Despite my mother’s best efforts, I was usually acquitted.
My younger sister Emily bought us lunch.
Melissa was the hardest sibling to torment because she was a step ahead of me. Eighteen months is a significant age difference when you’re a kid.
She knew I was a greedy little girl who loved money, so she glued a quarter to the kitchen floor.
In high school, I wore cool t-shirts.
At the same time that I was wearing these shirts, I was desperately trying to hide my issues with Irritable Bowel Syndrome (constant diarrhea).
If I had lived during caveman times, I would have been naturally selected out.
Diarrhea is an embarrassing problem.
And the all-girl mob always follows.
I would have to hold in diarrhea while peeing. Tortuously unsatisfying.
I would do anything to keep it from people.
Daily diarrhea before 9:00 am is one of my superpowers. When I went off to college, I continued to master the art of hiding my diarrhea problems. The professor of an 8:00 am art class had a strict attendance policy: be late more than twice, and get docked a letter grade.
I spoke with my art professor, hoping to garner sympathy for my case.
Naturally, she was cool about it.
Nearing the end of college, I figured I should attempt adult things. So I got a summer internship.
It was the most courageous thing I had ever done.
While I was abroad, I got a Facebook message about Melissa from someone I didn’t know.
I was confused by the cryptic message.
I questioned the cryptic message.
The Facebook stranger was the first to break the news to me.
I doubt the person had any idea how terrible it felt to receive earth-shattering news from a stranger via social media.
A lot of things happened quickly.
Head first, I was cast from my coveted position as middle child.
A new sign formed above my head.
I was given a new hat.
With Melissa gone, my time as pack leader had begun.
