How Old Are We?

After the last post, I should note that although I grew up with a dog and actually do like nice dogs, yesterday was the second time I have nearly been attacked by a dog while running in the past few months, so I went out and purchased a small can of mace yesterday to take with me on future runs.

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Those of you who have heard me complain about my sister know that she’s nearly impossible to live with. She even drives our mother to pulling out her hair. I know all of us have our difficult moments, but it doesn’t seem like Emily has ever grown out of her sixth grade syndrome. And I will admit I have this inexplicable stubbornness when it comes to dealing with her, and her immature, irrational actions and comments drive me to lower myself to her level and fight back. Sigh. But since classes started for her, and I have been working full time, we had pretty much been managing to avoid each other. Until this weekend, that is.

This story starts about four weeks back when it was her turn to clean the bathroom. We alternate weekends, so each person only has to clean twice a month. In early January, she took out the garbage and vacuumed but neglected to do the rest of her cleaning job. When I asked her whether or not she had cleaned the bathroom that weekend, she just turned and walked out of the room. Now, I prefer things to be fair, so in my opinion, it was still her turn to clean the bathroom next. I did the same cleaning job as she did the following weekend when it was my turn to clean; I didn’t actually clean anything. Two more weeks have passed, and the toilet began to look grimier by the day. I figured I could live with it another few weeks until I left, even though the toothpaste stains in the sink and ring in the toilet were getting to me. Once I left, she’d have to deal with it. But I guess it was bothering her as well. When my mom asked if I had cleaned the bathroom this weekend, I said I was still waiting for Emily because it was her turn. She left the two of us to negotiate and walked outside.

Emily said coldy, “You are disgusting and I am not going to clean up your dirty mess.”

I calmly replied, “Well, if we looked at the proportion of time you spend in the bathroom, I think you technically make more of the mess.”

All she could do was yell that I was disgusting as tears formed in her eyes. I told her, “You can call me disgusting all you want, but it’s not going to get the bathroom clean.”

At which point she stomped out of the room, and I began to hear clanking and things being smashed on the wood floor in the hallway. I had to go run some errands, so when I peeked down the hall on my way out of the house, I saw she had torn everything I own out of the bathroom and had thrown it on the floor.

Practically screaming she said, “Fine, I’ll clean the bathroom, but you can’t ever use it again!”

I came home to find a note on the bathroom door that read:
Stay out of the bathroom!
Go to Connecticut
No one wants you here

My mom noticed it as well and replaced it with one of her own:
How old are we?

If only I could leave this house sooner.