poor, poor, pitiful me

I was the youngest of five girls, and I really don't much remember getting things.
(Sound pitiful much?)
We mostly did have lots of stuff already.
Like the puzzle map of the 37 states, and the toy tea set for one and a half people, and dozens of rather rumpled dolls.
Bitter? Just a tad.
I do remember that the most squabbled over item was a wooden box of hundreds of half-inch ceramic tiles.
I think my mother got them as samples originally, so they were never given to any one of us, which caused territorial spats
You could make designs with them by the hour.

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13 responses to this post.

  1. Oh dear…I say this all the time, but I can't help it. I hate to laugh over other's misfortunes….but when you say the "puzzle map of the 37 states"…well, I hadta laugh!!! I am the oldest of three, and therefore was Queen Bitch of the House. And, I really didn't realize how difficult it is being one of the youngers until…oh….now?


  2. ditto Lauri's first sentiment…but I was the youngest of 3 girls…
    and Lauwolfie…get an avatar already!!!! or I'm gonna start calling you Question mark head.


  3. Okay, better?


  4. Lurve the new Avatar. Faboo!
    I was the youngest of three, only girl. The fact I made it out of childhood alive is an accomplishment in itself. I know I've mentioned this before, but if I showed any preference for any toy, it was immediately destroyed with glee by my brothers. Their favorite pastime was making me cry. Effers.


  5. That's how it is with older sisters. They don't know what it's like to be at the bottom of the heap, where your clothes are always hand-me downs, and the money/generosity has always run out by the time it's your turn to get a car. Bitter, party of one, your table is ready ;o)Honestly, I don't think I would be so bitter, if my older sisters hadn't been such brutal tyrants. If the mockery hadn't been so personal and unrelenting, the beatings so frequent and so frequently involving things like Barbie dolls and hot curling irons. Do you know what it's like to be beaten into submission with a Malibu Barbie? It's not a good feeling.


  6. Redzilla-I must tell you about the horror of the pink party dress.My mother, in a fit of madness, bought us Matching Party Dresses when I was about 4.I am, as I said, the youngest of five — my oldest sister was ten years older — fourteen.A tall fourteen.The dress was a pale pink dotted swiss shirtwaist, with a big circle collar edged with white lace, and a skinny shiny black belt.How do I remember so well a party dress from when I was four, you may ask.Well, party dress don't wear out.Every time I grew out of that monster, there was another pink hideosity awaiting me.To this day I hate pink.


  7. oh my god the pink party dress story is scary. I would have nightmares. I only wanted books when i was a kid. I don't recall ever wanting anything else except my brother's legos but i never could have them as that was a boy's toy.


  8. I'll see your five pink party dresses and raise you four stars & stripes polyester leisure suits. In 1976 I was 5, and Mom made us all matching outfits. It was 1982 before I finally outgrew the last of those monsters.


  9. I think you win.I am awed and humbled.Stars and stripes AND made by mom.Ouch! Ouch!


  10. Ouch is right…man, I was the recipient of hand me downs but I don't have that many horror stories…


  11. At least by being the girl, I was spared those monstrosities. However, the 70's were the age of double knit polyester and I was cursed with a grandmother who loved all things tacky. Not a lot of nice childhood pictures of me, fo' shizzle.


  12. Now that's just mean. Couldn't you have – I dunno – melted them or something? There was only me and my brother, and I am 7 years older, just, so we never had that problem. My problem was he was visious – he put stitches in my head with a Tonka Tipper Truck, he would bite and kick, gouge, scratch – dirty fighting did not get dirtier – to get his own way; he was the baby and I was supposed to know better. And he was my mother's favourite. She lost one before him, and she just wanted a boy more, I guess – but it showed. And it still rankles.Pitiful? Bitter? Just a tad!


  13. I guess I was lucky that I was the last chance for a girl. My parents let us fight amongst ourselves but I do remember being separated from my brothers whenever it was deemed necessary – two grocery carts on shopping trips, one for me and the food, the other for the two of them. Our feet never touched the floor until we were all too big to fit.
    Brother Ray split my lower lip open when I was in 4th grade, requiring stitches (thank your deity of choice I didn't get a broken nose and worse). The only blessing is the scar tissue has made my lips look nice and plump. Only if you are looking for it when I smile can you see the bump and if no lipstick, the zigzag of where the stitches were.
    I once hit him in the back with Dad's leather belt (I was probably 6 or 7). If Mom hadn't been in the house, there's a good chance I would be dead now. He was wailing in pain and Mom said, "If you wouldn't pick on her so much, she wouldn't have done that to you."
    We all get along fine now, but Ray has major remorse for how he treated me. I've never heard it from him, but from others. Good. I'll hope up on the Bitter Bus with you, Bookmole!


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