Friday, June 1, 2007

It Runs in the Family, Part 2

I didn't notice the winks and nods around the dinner table.

For most of his life, I had threatened to string my little brother, Nathan (George), up by his toes and jam peanut butter up his nose. Now he was four years old, and payback was about to be a bitch.

On some secret signal, they rushed me. The whole family tackled me backwards in my chair. I struggled valiantly, but they pinned me in the middle of the living room.

Even my sweet mother was in on it, using what were probably covert military maneuvers to hold me down. Collecting all manner of ropes, ties, belts, and other instruments of captivity, the rest of them tied my legs together and my arms to my sides.

I was laughing so hard I could barely get my breath, but when I did, I yelled ineffective threats of swirlies and Chinese Elbows of Torture. Although I have freakishly strong legs, the knots binding my legs were strong, and I wasn't able to make good on my promises to "get my legs into it."

I didn't notice when George disappeared, but when he returned, I immediately saw the plastic jar of peanut butter in his hand. With my family's encouragement, he excitedly unscrewed the lid. I watched helplessly as he dipped his finger into the jar, collecting a large scoop of peanut butter. Then he came towards me.

I twisted and struggled, but was powerless against both parents and both sisters. This was a family on a mission, and I deserved it.

Days later, I still sneezed Jiffy.

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