Sandy Supposes....

Ralph Learns To Look Before She Sits

PROMPT: The Wildcard Round! Share a funny story about growing up with one of your siblings. If you're an only child... how do you imagine you might playfully torment a younger brother or sister?

         I just finished enjoying our weekly lunch date with my youngest sister. Between Sherry and I, is a ten-year span, and I'm the eldest of four siblings. When I mentioned that my latest blog prompt was this one, and I needed to tell a funny story, she immediately grinned and offered ' the butter tart tale'. Oh, we're definitely related; that's the one of many stories I thought to share! So, without further ado here it is......

         When my sibs and I were kids our family kept a seasonal campsite that we lived in/at all summer. We were a family of six, but for some strange reason we only had five lawn chairs. Five chairs circled the campfire pit, and it was first come, first seated. Of course, there were skirmishes, and sometimes someone would be turfed from their perch. Diversionary tactics might work, but only once. My parents were guaranteed a seat; seniority and possible repercussions were in their favour. This meant playing a never-ending game of musical chairs; four bodies vying for the remaining three seats. Sherry, the youngest, had to fight for her seat, too. There were no concessions just because she was the baby.

         Oh, I should add that we were three girls and one, lone boy. Sherry had short, sparse blonde hair upon her head, and it was so thin and wispy, her scalp actually tanned. Running around dolled up in dresses was not her style. Things needed to be evened up, so my brother and I took to referring to Sherry as "Ralph". Two girls, one boy, and a girl that looked-like-a-boy; this was our happy family.

          We were a family that loved its desserts. Heaven help my mother if one was not available after our evening meal. She wasn't adverse to baking cakes or muffins while camping. ( One memorable evening, my brother and I were assigned to wash the supper dishes, and we were wasting valuable time squabbling over who would wash and who would dry. Seated across from each other with the trailer table between us, we were settling the matter by kicking each other. Too late, we'd kicked the collapsible leg of the table, sending it and the dirty dishes crashing to the floor. Desperately, we reached to save what we could; Mark was the undeniable hero. He salvaged our dessert, a cake, and I managed to rescue a bottle of ketchup. Oh, but I digress....)On this particular evening, Mom had served us butter tarts, and they were not just any tarts. They were "store-boughten" as Ralph crowed. Our mother was a baker, homemade treats all the time, so something from a store was a novelty to us. Perhaps to suggest a hint of fresh-from-the-oven baking, Mom had warmed the butter tarts, or more accurately, had tried to 'warm' them. In reality, the tarts were too hot to eat.

         Someone, and I'm thinking it was my brother, placed a hot butter tart on a lawn chair, and walked away. I understand his reasoning; he was both reserving one of the chairs for himself, saving or demarking his spot, and allowing his tart to cool. Sherry came outside juggling her own too-warm tart, and seeing an empty chair, and seizing the opportunity, she quickly and triumphantly sat down. She wasn't there for long. I've never, before or since, witnessed Ralph move that quickly! She sprang from that 'hot seat' with a howl, and began running. Her frantic efforts were in vain; that burning butter tart stayed glued/plastered to the back of her thigh.

         Don't worry, Sherry/Ralph never developed a fear of butter tarts. I was with her when she devoured one a few weeks ago. She did learn however to look before she sits.