Siblings, Struggles and Spies

My younger sister and I have a love/hate relationship. It’s really the relationship of a teenager and her mother. You’d think I would be the cool big sister who lets her borrow my clothes, teaches her how to do her hair and makeup, covers for her when she wants to start dating two years before she’s allowed to. And, I would love to be all those things to her. Every once in a while she lets me, too. I’ve already given her the “I don’t care what time it is and I won’t tell mom and dad, call ME before you try to drive home drunk” talk. That went over fairly well. I try to educate her about the bands that are never played on the station she listens to. Thanks to me she can usually identify AC/DC (she also knows what the letters stand for), Van Halen and Guns ‘n Roses at the very least. I have also tried to enrich her life through film. She’s familiar with many of the most worthy cultural icons ever captured on the screen, like Matthew McConaughey in Dazed and Confused, Matthew Broderick in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, among others. But, for every good day, there are at least five bad ones. You will learn more by studying the following examples.

On Saturday, I was in the bathroom doing my hair. Rebekah refuses to get ready in the same bathroom as me. She comes to the door and, without pointing, hinting, nodding toward or acknowledging any object IN ANY WAY, says,

“Hand me that.”

I take a few moments to look at the bathroom counter where my eyes scan multiple brushes and combs, at least 15 bottles of various shapes and sizes containing all kinds of potions, and an array of hair tools, toothbrushes, bobby pins, etc.

I turn back to her, returning her request with a blank stare.

This infuriates her. My inability to read her mind and decipher which of the 50 or so objects littering the bathroom vanity is the one she requires at that precise moment has lowered me, in her opinion, to the status of social paramecium. I am no longer her intellectual equal. I have failed.

Visibly irritated, but still not conceding any form of helpfulness, she replies: “That!”

Again, blank stare on my part. My facial expression is absent of any understanding for what she is asking. But, out of fear, I begin pointing to random objects.

First, I try hairspray. No, not it. Stupid answer, Rachel! Her hair is straight today – no need for hairspray. Gosh!

Next - hair tie. A look of disgust is shot toward me.

Repeatedly, I point, then look to her, hoping to see approval and acceptance in her eyes. Growing weary I motion to her toothbrush. Wrong again!! I can hear Napoleon Dynamite’s voice echoing “idiot.” Bullets of cold sweat begin rolling down my temples.

My final guess - I point to the hand mirror. It seems to take hours as I rotate my head again. There is hope in my heart, but also foreboding.

The moment of truth.

With an inpatient grunt, Rebekah snatches the mirror and disappears into her cave…errrr, room.

Victory is mine.


Example No. 2

I get up at 5:15 and I must be out the door by 7:00 to get to work by 8:00. I have a very demanding haircut, but I also like to have a little downtime before leaving – you know drink my coffee, watch a few minutes of the news, etc. So, an hour and forty-five minutes is just enough time to shower, dress, do hair and makeup, eat breakfast, brush teeth and still have some cushion to catch the weather or accommodate wardrobe malfunctions (I will never be able to express the gratitude I feel for Janet Jackson for giving us that phrase.) However, I still have to run a pretty tight ship.

Rebekah has to be up and getting ready by 6:45, but generally she wanders out about 6:30 to inform the rest of us that we have disturbed her. She then spends 15 minutes or so pouting on the couch or in the recliner, frequently grunting or wincing in agony whenever I open my mouth. (There is something about the sound of my voice she just can’t take in the morning…or ever.) Then she eventually eats breakfast and goes to her room to do her hair. Or, she used to.

After this morning, I believe the grunting and wincing are mere fronts. Today it was obvious she had been studying my schedule and habits for some time. I always assumed she was groggy and unaware in the mornings, but I realize now she’s been gathering intelligence. She is acutely aware of all my actions.

After finishing my coffee in the morning, around 6:40, I take my mug to the kitchen then go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and powder my face. That’s how it goes. Every Morning. Without fail. I’ve noticed for a while now, that when I start toward the kitchen Rebekah catapults off the couch or out of the chair and heads to the bathroom where she stays, with door locked, for approximately twelve minutes. Just enough time to throw me off and get me out the door five minutes late.

Sabotage.

The irritating point is this – she’s been sitting around for ten or fifteen minutes while I drink coffee and eat breakfast, acting repulsed by any sound I make, but she doesn’t take that time to use the restroom and escape my vocal reach. She waits. She waits until I am ready to go back in, then she strikes.

Just wait, Rebekah. I’m on to you now.