By Lorry Myers
My three older sisters were scheming to have an after-prom party in our backyard, complete with a live band. They believed it would take all of us to get our parents to agree, and then all of us to do the work to make it happen. Those sisters knew I was a punk kid who would do anything to come to that party.
Anything.
These sisters, Sherry, Sandy and Lindy, borrowed black lights and lined the floors inside the main rooms of the house. Furniture was moved to make space for electric guitars and drums played by boys with long hair. Cookies were baked, chip dip was made, and I did everything any sister asked me to do. I vacuumed and dusted, and ran and fetched whenever they barked.
Wicked sisters.
When it came time for them to decorate themselves for the dance, the prom pressure was too much and one of them snapped when I sat on her dress. With that came a public announcement.
I was a brat and couldn’t come to the party.
Frantically, I brokered a new deal with my mother. If I helped her with the finishing touches, she would guarantee me a spot at the party. From atop the kitchen counter, I could watch it all and if I sat very still, my sisters would never know I was there. It wasn’t what I had been promised but at least I could go.
But I didn’t have to like it.
I was mad at the wicked sisters for treating me like I was a little kid. I kept thinking about me cleaning toilets so they wouldn’t ruin their nails. Me baking cookies so they could curl their hair. Me doing everything so they could have all the fun! Nothing is ever fair when you have three older sisters. I was not only forced to wear their hand-me-downs but also, be at their beck and call. Now, they uninvited me to their party!
I was done.
After the evil ones left for the ball, this Cinderella volunteered to make the punch and I created my own recipe. Jell-O and ginger ale and a few more ingredients that I won’t get into. The punch was bright green and I poured it in a crystal bowl, marveling at the tiny sparkles floating around inside. I darkened the room and turned on the black lights previewing what the punch looked like when the party started.
It looked like revenge punch to me.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard
