I Smell a Rat

Up to now, things have been fairly one sided. Five years is a big difference. Shove it into one room and it can become an even bigger difference.

There were lots of room "cleaning" episodes (did I mention we found a claw once?) and various other issues. "Get out! I'm in here with my friends. You weren't even in here until we came in here!" Get the picture? And your stuff was not safe.

Apparently there is some unspoken rule amongst siblings that goes something like this: "If they didn't want me to touch it, they should not have left it where I could see it." I don't know where this comes from but I have even watched it unfold with my own kids. My brother once walked into our room, took my Peter Criss (original drummer for KISS) poster off the closet door and TORE IT UP!! His defense was "I could see it and I didn't like it" You couldn't see it from the hall. You had to actually walk into our room! Did he get in trouble? Of course not. However, if I had gone into his room and done that I would have been. Simply because "I should know better".

Anyway, I was careful to put anything considered "Stuff" where it could not be seen. Some serious snooping would have to take place in order to locate it. Notes and trinkets were carefully hidden in locations that I will still not reveal. As I got older, the definition of "Stuff" would take on new meanings. There was the PlayGirl that my friend swiped from her mom (I know, ew) that we hid under the play house. We were in junior high lest you think we were 8 year old pervs. Forgot about it until it was faded but got it out before my dad relocated the play house to another part of the yard. whew!

Then there was "THE Stuff". I was smart enough to never bring anything like that into my house but I figured paraphernalia was safe. I underestimated "the sister".

The item in question was carefully hidden in my purse, in a side pocket. She had no business going through my purse (this fact would become exhibit A for the defense and really the only defense I had). I was about 15-16 which would make her about 10-11. I left it on my bed and went out of the room. She searched through the purse, into the side pocket and pulled out an "item" wrapped up in a Ratt headband (ironic, isn't it?) *For those of you not in the know, Ratt was an 80's hair band* Having found said item, she took it straight to my mom.

I will save you the details of what happened next. That will be for another time.

My mom played the "She told because she was worried about you" card. Yeah, right, sure. Nothing up to now gave me any indication that she cared one way or the other. She was 11. "She didn't know what it was and brought it to me to find out". Not buying that one either. Yes, its true if she had brought it to me her life would have been in jeopardy, but not the point right now. Either way, after the interrogation and threats of rehab, I would have to go back to that room that I shared with the rat. Honestly, I don't think she realized, at least not at the time, why I was so mad at her. And I stayed mad for quite awhile. Whatever patience I had for the little darling was now fully tested.

I do not remember much interaction with her again until the day love walked in...