Dear Journal:
Thankfully, sissy didn’t drive home drunk. I don’t know if she got an Uber or was driven by a (hopefully) sober friend, but her car wasn’t in the driveway when I woke up Saturday morning. She and Dad picked it up later that afternoon. I would’ve liked to be a fly on the window for that car ride!
Or maybe I wouldn’t have. Apparently, sissy wizened up and went full mea culpa mode, resulting in a reduction of her sentence. In addition to reneging on his late-night threat to take away prom, which had resulted in the house-shaking door slam, Dad only grounded her until graduation. That’s just three weeks!
Daddy’s girl strikes again…
He DID take her phone away, but only for a week. Still, it was nice to see a blow actually land.
“But I need it for safety,” sissy whined.
“You’re only going to and from school,” Dad said. “I think you’ll be alright.”
I wonder if Mom and Dad will go through her texts and photos? If Michelle’s bedroom antics hadn’t already shattered her sweet and innocent act, whatever sordid tales are stored on her phone surely will.
Sissy spent Saturday and Sunday watching TV and moping around the house in her PJs. Funny how her punishment was my usual weekend. Still, I flaunted my freedom whenever I could, going for walks and returning with shopping bags that I paraded past her.
I DID smuggle the prisoner some contraband in the form of a Starbucks drink and a McDonald’s value meal, however. I couldn’t have her wasting away during incarceration, could I?
What’s the adage? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer? The problem with keeping sissy close is that you end up being her bitch. She borrowed my phone at least a dozen times and, of course, I ceded the remote to her whenever she was in the living room. On the bright side, she let me hang around and didn’t call me piggy, so…progress?
Speaking of progress, that belly bubbling beneath the surface of her shirt looks about ready to break through. That’s the good news. The bad news is she’s aware of it. Remember when I wrote about flaunting my weight gain? How I’d wear my tightest clothes and parade around the house with my belly pushed out? Sissy did the opposite. She wore baggy nightgowns and sucked in her stomach whenever anyone else was around.
After buttering her up with that burger, however, she relaxed around me a little. She’d lounge in the recliner, like a queen on her throne, laughing at some inane comedy, while I sat on an adjacent sofa, like a lady-in-waiting, ready to respond to her heinousness' behest. The show made it worthwhile. (Not the laugh-tracked garbage on the tube, but sissy’s journey toward becoming a tub.) I’d bring chips or soda or whatever else she asked for, then watch as the swell of her stomach gradually inflated the goofy anime character pictured on her sleepshirt.
Of course, whenever mom or dad entered the room, sissy sat up and sucked-in. I was worried they’d say something about having food in the living room, a rule they instituted when I began porking up, but they didn’t. Apparently, sissy isn’t fat enough to show up on their radar yet.
Soon. Very soon.
--Jessie