My Sister is Adopted

div style=”text-align: left;”Just kidding, she really isn’t. But when she was around ten years old, I managed to convince her that she was. I was sitting outside on the porch of our parents’ house, trying to read, and she was annoying me. I don’t remember what, exactly, she was doing that annoyed me, but back then, it didn’t take much. Just her mere presence was enough to drive me bat-shit crazy sometimes. So as a joke, I decided to tell her she was adopted, but my intention wasn’t to take it as far as I did. It was originally supposed to go something like this:/divdivbr //divdivbLaura: i(doing annoying things)/i/b/divdivbMe: /bStop it, you’re annoying me./divdivbLaura: i(doing even more annoying things to annoy me further)/i/b/divdivbMe: /bThere’s no way we’re related. You must be adopted./divdivbLaura: /bTee-hee-hee! No I’m not! bi(does more annoying things then runs away, her job done)/i/b/divdivbibr //i/b/divdivIt was supposed to be done in an it’s-obvious-I’m-messing-with-you kind of way, but that message must have gotten lost in the multitude of synapses on the way to my brain, because here’s what happened instead:/divdivbr //divdivbLaura: i(doing annoying things)/i/b/divdivbMe: /bStop it, you’re annoying me./divdivbLaura: i(doing even more annoying things to annoy me further)/i/b/divdivbMe: /bYou know you’re adopted, right?/divdivbLaura: /bNo I’m not. bi(efforts are re-doubled in annoying me)/i/b/divdivbMe: /bYes you are. Why do you think there aren’t as many pictures of you as a baby as there are of me?*/divdivbLaura: i(stops doing annoying things) /ispan class=”Apple-style-span” style=”font-weight: normal;”Because. They just didn’t take as many pictures of me, I guess. /spani(goes back to doing annoying things)/i/b/divdivbMe: /bIt’s because those are the only pictures the adoption agency had. /divdivbLaura: i(stops doing annoying things entirely and is wavering between belief and disbelief) /ispan class=”Apple-style-span” style=”font-weight: normal;”You’re lying./span/b/divdivbMe: /bNo I’m not. You’re adopted./divdivbLaura: i(clearly doubting the legitimacy of her status in our family) /ispan class=”Apple-style-span” style=”font-weight: normal;”If I go ask Mom, she’ll say I’m not adopted./span/b/divdivbMe: /bIf you’re so sure you’re not adopted, then why do you need to go and ask Mom if you are?/divdivbLaura: i(goes into the house to ask Mom)/i/b/divdivbibr //i/b/divdivIt was supposed to end there. She would ask Mom if she were adopted, Mom would tell her she wasn’t, I could go back to reading, and she would leave me alone. Instead, I heard my mom calling for me a minute or so later: “Sarah, come in here.”/divdivbr //divdivCrap. I was going to get in trouble, and this issue wasn’t even worth getting into trouble over. It seemed harmless enough. Older siblings mess with their younger counterparts all the time! If I’d had a quarter for every joke I played on Laura before this particular instance, I would have had enough money to pay for my college tuition. Reluctantly, I walked into the house and to the kitchen where my mom was standing with Laura, and got something I hadn’t bargained for:/divdivbr //divdivbMe: /bWhat?/divdivbMom: /bI thought we agreed that we wouldn’t tell Laura she was adopted until she was older. /divdivbr //divdivI was stunned. Mom was playing along? This was better than I expected! I was still completely caught off-guard, so all I could manage to choke out was, “I’m sorry,” but it was enough. Laura’s doubts had been confirmed, and, faced with a major revelation her ten year-old mind wasn’t equipped to handle, she did the only thing she could do: she burst into tears. It was loud, and woke up my father, who had been asleep in my parents’ bedroom (he worked midnights at a href=””FDLE/a back then). Pissed that he had been awakened from his slumber, he demanded to know what was going on. My sister ran to him, and between sobs, informed him that I told her she was adopted. I sure as hell wasn’t going to go down alone, so I quickly pointed at mom and said, “Hey, Mom helped too!” Poor Pops had to do damage control. After calming Laura down and reassuring her that she was a 100% legit member of our household, he gave me and Mom a stern talking-to (“You should have known better,” blah blah blah) while we attempted to put on our most sobering facial expressions, and finally went back to bed. /divdivbr //divdivI wish I could say I felt remorse for this particular joke, but I don’t. I actually consider it a pretty impressive feat that I was able to convince someone who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she wasn’t adopted that she was. That takes some mad powers of persuasion. And don’t worry about my sister. She didn’t suffer any sort of emotional or mental trauma from this incident, and today we get along swimmingly and are the best of friends. /divdivbibr //i/b/divdivbispan class=”Apple-style-span” style=”font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; “img src=”” border=”0″ alt=”” id=”BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524980774722332530″ style=”display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 186px; ” //span/i/b/divdivbispan class=”Apple-style-span” style=”font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; “br //span/i/b/divdivbspan class=”Apple-style-span” style=”font-weight: normal; “span class=”Apple-style-span”span class=”Apple-style-span” style=”font-size: x-small;”*There are /span/spanispan class=”Apple-style-span”span class=”Apple-style-span” style=”font-size: x-small;”plenty/span/span/ispan class=”Apple-style-span”span class=”Apple-style-span” style=”font-size: x-small;” of pictures of my sister as a baby, and for those of you who know us, one look at her will tell you there is absolutely NO WAY she is adopted. No way. We look too much alike. But being the first-born, my parents went picture crazy and there is literally an entire album of me doing nothing except being a baby in various scenarios: in my playpen, in the bathtub, in mom or dad’s arms. If you put the pictures together, in order, and flip through them, it would probably be an animation of me. It was a tad overkill. They learned their lesson, so when Laura came around, they only took a few key photos and that was it. So where I have piles and piles of useless photos, Laura might have less, but they are all worth saving./span/span/span/b/div

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