Holly Hobbie Horror

"Why do you mind if I'm sitting here?" was a question I often posed to my sister as I casually sprawled out on her bed.  I knew full well, after sharing a room with her for as long as I could remember, touching her bed was completely off limits and a rallying cry for sibling war.  "Just get off my bed, Trina.  You know why you can't sit there", she would reply with an increasing tenseness to her tone,  fists clenched as though they were warming up for the first punch.

The sadistic side of me reveled in watching her fair skin transform itself to the color of her firey red hair.  Undeterred, I actually did want to know why, exactly, her bed was the only place in my house I couldn't sit.  The answer usually came in the form a a hand finding its way to the most sensitive hairs on my head and grasping them until I finally decided I had the response I needed;  for now anyway.

My younger sister and I grew up sharing a room with matching twin beds,  complete with matching dustry rose ruffled comforters.  Classy...in a trailer park kind of way.  At the time we picked out our sheet sets, we were very enamored with Holly Hobbie.  You may remember that Hallmark honey...She was the sweet country girl with a blue bonnet and pinafore...usually smelled flowers or came up with some grotesquely sweet saying to brighten your day.  In the 1970's she was the poster child for innocence and wholesome living for young suburban girls with aspirations of becoming a pioneer.

Included in the 200 thread count sheet set was a pillowcase with Holly Hobbie's famous profile.

One night while getting ready for bed, I decided once again to pursue my quest to enable my sister to see the ridiculousness of her ways and finally allow me to relax in the comfort of her bed.

As she went to brush her teeth before bed, I casually sat on her bed as though it was an everyday, agreeable occurrence.  I grabbed a book I was moderately interested in, fluffed her pillow and sat myself down.  I knew full well the wrath that was to come, but for some reason I decided to push the envelope. She strolled into the room and immediately glared at me.  I glared back...

Sister: "Get off my bed."

Me:  "No. You're being ridiculous.  I'm just reading."

Sister:  "I'm going to hit you"

Me:  "So?  I'm not scared...'Ostrich'." (this was a name I called her.  She hated it because she was tall and lanky.  Being the nice sister I was, I often reminded her she looked like an ostrich when she ran.  It was effective.)

My sister went ballistic...I mean a hailstorm of fists and fury.  The hits came so fast I could have sworn she grew 3 extra arms.  I was lousy fighter...I needed to defend myself...end the onslaught of fists.  So I sat my ass down on Holly Hobbie's face and ripped one.*

Suddenly the room grew silent...She stood there.  Mouth gaping, wide-eyed...incredulous...but defeated.  I had just parted Holly Hobbie's hair and there wasn't a damn thing she could do.  I was rather surprised too.  I mean, I was pissed she was hitting me, but impressed by my ad hoc defense technique...Genius, really.

I removed myself from the Holly Hobbie pillow and proceeded to climb into my own bed...grinning....pleased with myself for having the final 'say', so to speak....I don't need to elaborate.  You get that, right?

My sister climbed into bed layed on the pillow and sat back up..astonished.  "This still smells Trina."  I just rolled my eyes as I layed on my side turned away from her and said, "Aw, shut up.  It does not."

Without saying a word, she proceeded to roll out of bed and head downstairs.  "What is she doing?" I thought to myself.  As I turned and looked at her empty bed, I noticed the pillow was missing.  Just as I made this observation, I heard my mother downstairs begin to yell because my sister wasn't in bed.  "What?  WHAT?!" I could hear mom say in an annoyed tone...then, "HUH?"...A quiet pause... (I later learned she smelled the pillow), and then "Jesus Christ!  TRINA!  Trade pillows with your sister for the night!!!"

Yes, I guess I won the battle but lost the war...is that the saying?  I don't know.  I'm still worried about telling you guys I farted.  Ok, outta here...



(*Disclaimer:  Please remember I was 10 years old.  I no longer practice this defense mechanism.)