Big Sister Schadenfreude
My younger sister, Marla, has two irrational phobias:
"characters with heads" &
department store mannequins.
The first was ultimately tested on a family vacation to Disney World where cartoon incarnates lurked around every magical corner.
The second may or may not have been a byproduct of one particularly cruel instance of sibling mind-games that I refer to as
'big sister schadenfreude'.
The Walkman on my lap flung onto the floor of our minivan as my mother whipped into a parking space in front of Kohl's department store. Once inside, she forged ahead fearlessly into the jungle of savings to commence blitzkrieg on customer service, steadfast on redeeming a well-expired coupon.
Meanwhile, I was left in charge of my little sister as second-in command and sought refuge for our troops among track suits that were certainly juicy, but definitely not couture.
My sister was fatigued from running a morning marathon of errands and escaped the grips of my authority to plop beneath a rack of denim jackets. Something about this bratty behavior triggered an angsty dissociative fugue only attributable to an overdose of Avril Lavigne CD's, and incited a special visit to her tent of sequined solitude. I peeled back its entrance with the serenity of a serial killer to find her seated with all four limbs crossed into a knot, sporting a pout that was worthy of being awarded a varsity letter.
She spat through lips smothered in Smackers chapstick,
"LEAVE. ME. ALONE-UH."
Instead, I took a seat, unhinged the gates of a dark corner of my imagination, and freed the trolls pent up inside to run rampant on my darling sister.
"See that room over there?" Her eyes shifted to the storage closet in the back. "That's where the store workers take all of the kids that they find hiding in the store to freeze and turn into mannequins to put out on display."
"They decide on how much of your body to chop off depending on how stubborn you are. If they found you sitting in here now, you would look like that chick over there."
The blood drained from her face as she stared into her future as a whittled-down torso modeling a chintzy polyester satchel.
Big-sister schadenfreude is a twisted way of breaking in the 'big girl heels' of younger siblings because we know that skin is only thickened through a series of painful life blisters.
For instance, sister dearest, I withheld your Monopoly money upon passing 'Go' unless it was requested out loud as a practical lesson on financial responsibility. I only watched ringside with a bucket of popcorn as you fought with your first boyfriend because I placed a bet beforehand that you would reign victorious over his concave, band nerd chest. Furthermore, I would have karate chopped any Kohl's employee who froze your tiny, pudgeball being, but how else would you have learned that 'prima donna' is a false translation from Italian for purported 'first women' that always come in last.
So next time that you point a finger and call me a "cold and heartless bitch", I'll just assume that you're referring to the mannequin behind me committed to a life sentence of modeling hats.
Watch as I pave the road to redemption by cooking Marla her favorite breakfast in this episode of my Snapchat cooking show, Make It Snappy!
Add @TheOliveEye on Snapchat to tune in live to future episodes and click here to learn how to poach the perfect egg alla Martha Stewart.