Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Ohhh…. (02/04/10)
TITLE: The Baking Soda Incident
By Delores McCarter
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I was never intimated by my brother. Being five feet two inches tall, I was considered to be short, but what I lacked in height, I made up with great confidence. Jimmy couldnâ€™t get it through his thick skull that I would not allow myself to be inferior to him or anyone else. It seemed as though we were always fighting about something, but after the baking soda incident, my Daddy signed us up for therapy immediately.
â€śI canâ€™t keep beating you. We need to figure this thing out.â€ť He said.
So, my brother and I had to endure boring conflict resolution workshops, anger management classes, and various one-on-one sessions with Dr. Michaels.
Dr. Michaels finally diagnosed that the source of conflict between my brother and I was just a classic case of sibling rivalry. Well, I could have told my parents that and saved them thousands of dollars. In one of my sessions, the baking soda incident came up, as I knew it would. It was just a matter of time.
â€śWhy do you think you were sent here?â€ť Dr. Michaels asked me.
â€śMy parents think that I have some anger management issues.â€ť
â€śHow do you feel about that?â€ť
â€śIâ€™m not angry, but my brother is always angry about something.â€ť
â€śDo you feel that these sessions are a waste of time?â€ť
â€śNo, because my brother really needs them.â€ť
â€śBecause heâ€™s a crazy fool!â€ť I shouted.
Dr. Michaels gasped and almost spit out her coffee. She is always such a classy lady, so Iâ€™m sure I caught her off guard.
â€śOhhh.â€¦ Deborah, please never call him that!â€ť She admonished. She set the coffee on the table and tried to regain her composure. I gave her a few moments and tried not to laugh.
â€śNow, continue the conversation you had with your brother that day.â€ť
â€śI was minding my own business about to make some wheat pancakes.â€ť
â€śPick up where your brother entered the kitchen.â€ť
â€śHe never entered the kitchen. He just stood in the hallway.â€ť
â€śI stand corrected. Please proceed.â€ť
â€śOk. I had just laid out the ingredients when Jimmy stomped down the hallway. Iâ€™m sure Barack and Michelle could hear him clear up to the White House!â€ť
Dr. Michaels choked back a laugh. â€śPlease proceed.â€ť She repeated.
â€śWell, he stood in the hallway and demanded that I cook him a special breakfast, as if I would. I told him that if he was so hungry, he should eat an apple. It would do him good and probably regenerate some of his brain cells.â€ť
â€śHow did he respond to that?â€ť
â€śWell, he told me, in a polite manner of speaking, to eat it myself. Then, he had the gall to tell me that, as a woman, I would end up stuck working in someoneâ€™s kitchen for the rest of my life.â€ť
â€śHow did you react to that?â€ť
â€śThat was when I threw the box of baking soda. My aim was so perfect that I surprised myself. The explosion of white power went everywhere and a bunch of it landed on top of his head before it cascaded down to his big feet.â€ť
â€śHow did you feel about hitting Jimmy?â€ť
â€śWell, I would have felt a lot better if my parents didnâ€™t enter the dinner room at that precise moment.â€ť
â€śWhat did your parents do?â€ť
â€śWell, Daddy pulled me outside for a stern talking to while Mama gave Jimmy an earful. By the time I came back inside, Jimmy was in the shower.â€ť
â€śWhere were your other siblings at the time?â€ť
â€śThey cleaned up the mess in the hallway and dining room.â€ť
â€śSo, Deborah, what will you remember about that incident?â€ť
â€śIâ€™ll remember two things. Iâ€™ll fondly remember those big white footprints on the carpet and for many days afterwards, whenever someone sat on those dining room chairs, white smoke would come out of the seat cushions. That was hilarious!â€ť
The alarm beeped softly, ending our session for the day.
â€śSee you next week, Doc!â€ť I shouted.
â€śOhhh.... Jesus, keep me near the cross!â€ť She replied as I raced out the door.
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