The rose, by any other name, is torture......

I just love Mama Kat from Mama's Losin It!  Although I enjoy all her posts, I especially like the writers' workshop prompts every week - there's always tons of variety and creativity and although her husband Pat suggested that we write about the NBA all star game this week, I think I'm going to go with #5 "write about something mean you did to a sibling".  I am however going to take creative licence and instead tell you about the super meanest thing that my one and only beloved sibling did to me.  This story continues to be a source of joy and uncontrollable giggling for her and now also for my husband and eldest daughter - they are all terribly insensitive if you ask me!  My case in point......

When I was in junior high, we lived in this house that had this fabulous little rec room in the basement for me and my sister to play in.  I loved this room and spent a great deal of my time in there during those years.  One of our favorite things to do was to put in a mixed tape of our favorite music and sing at the top of our lungs and dance around the room.  I thought it was an activity that my sister and I enjoyed equally, until that fateful day....  

I had a favorite song that I played over and over again.  Hint....

ok, another hint.....

think the late 70s.......

can you hum a tune?

Ok, so it was....

 yes, Madam Bette's The Rose.  A classic today, I know, but back then my absolute favorite song, recorded directly off the radio onto my cassette tape for my listening pleasure 24-7!!  It was pure joy to sing along with Bette, UNTIL.  One day I was belting it out and about halfway through the beautiful ballad, there is a break in the music and I hear my "darling" little sister's menacing voice saying "Helloooo Gayle", I scream because she has just defaced my beloved Bette in the middle of my favorite song, do you hear me, do you understand the implications?  That evil little girl (4 years my younger, so I'm not even allowed to beat her) has destroyed the only true source of joy I had in my life at that time.  AND she has been sitting on the stairs WAITING to hear this little plot of hers go down and when it does, she is cracking up on the stairs - fits of laughter.  That is until I take off after her!  Then both of us are screaming.  I don't remember much after that - I believe that my mind blocked it out because it was all too painful - but I know I was sobbing and yelling trying to explain this travesty to my mother who I am certain was having difficulty masking her amusement.  Thirty years later, I still bear those scars, tho they are not visible to the naked eye, of my sister's merciless cruelty.

That is my story.