Once again, I’m the invisible child. While waiting for some frozen peanut butter treats to thaw, my grandparents ask me how my Atlanta trip was, and I tell them about the Varsity, the aquarium, and the Coke Museum. I’m just about to explain to my grandma what the soda tasting room is, when my sister walks up with a jagged knife in her hand. She then proceeds to stab at her treat with said knife. My grandparents freak out, telling her, “What are you doing?! Be careful with that!” The conversation about my trip has officially died. I even waited to see if my grandparents would bring the subject back up, but they didn’t.
Why is it that so often bad behavior is rewarded over good behavior? I mean, I know the answer—it’s on Dr. Phil all the time. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. It almost makes me feel like doing something brash to get attention. *sigh* I know that would only make things worse, yet at times it can be so tempting. Don’t worry; I won’t go on a rampage. It’s just a passing thought in that fantasy world of mine. The thought at least brings a moment of synthetic relief, and it’s always easy to busy myself with other notions. But I always end up wondering how long I can suppress these kinds of feelings…
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