When we would travel to visit my grandparents, my sister and I would ride in the back seat and my mom would pass us and Oreo cookie the moment she detected any sign of restlessness.
I would gobble my cookie like a hungry dog tossed a piece of fat from a benevolent butcher.
My sister would then show me her half eaten cookie. "I still have half a cookie. You have nothing."
With the next Oreo, I would control myself and slowly eat half of it. When I turned to my sister, she would hold up the creamy center, having eaten the chocolate wafers. "Ew. You only have half a cookie. I have this delicious cream."
Next time, when I had saved the cream, she'd sneer, "Yuck the cream is awful with no chocolate. And you have no chocolate. Poor, sad, no chocolate you."
This went on for the entire 6-hour drive. Every cookie passed back by my mom was a torture device in the hands of my sister.
Those
drives are long in our past ... but she can still push my buttons just like when I was that 6-year-old in the back seat of a Pontiac Star Chief.
No comments:
Post a Comment