So, it’s only been a couple of days since I started this diary, and I already have more to say. Surprise, surprise—Hillary’s still a pain in the butt. Honestly, I think she’s getting worse.
Guess what? We measured her again last night. She’s now 4'8. Yeah. Four foot eight. She’s TWELVE. She’s practically growing an inch every time she sneezes. Meanwhile, I’m still stuck at 3'8, like my body hit the brakes three years ago and forgot how to work the gas pedal.
After Mom made us stand back-to-back (I swear, why does she always make us do that?), Hillary got this huge grin on her face. “Aww, poor Mollie,” she said in her fakest sweet voice. “Do you want me to kneel down so we can be the same height again?”
I wanted to scream. Instead, I just glared at her and told her to shut up. Very mature, I know.
But she didn’t stop there. Nope. At breakfast this morning, she “accidentally” put my cereal on the top shelf in the pantry. “Oops,” she said when I gave her the death stare. “Didn’t realize that was out of your reach, shorty.” Then she strolled away like she hadn’t just completely ruined my morning.
I dragged a chair over and got the cereal myself, but it still stung. It’s like, I’m already feeling bad enough about being tiny. Why does she have to make it worse?
And it’s not just the height. It’s everything. She’s filling out. She’s got hips now and a little bit of a chest. And she’s starting to wear clothes that actually fit someone her age. Meanwhile, I’m still in the kids’ section at the store, buying jeans with adjustable waistbands. I hate it.
The worst part? Sometimes I think she doesn’t mean to be so annoying. Like, she just doesn’t get it. She doesn’t know what it feels like to be the big sister but feel smaller in every way. To be the oldest but look like the youngest. To feel like you’re... stuck.
I try to laugh it off most of the time. I say stuff like, “Yeah, well, dynamite comes in small packages.” But inside? I wish I could just wake up one morning and be tall. Okay, maybe not tall-tall. I don’t need to be 6'2 like Dad. Just... average would be fine. Normal. Like I belong in my own skin. Or maybe I would like to be as tall as dad is. We will see what the futere brings.
Anyway, enough complaining for today. I’ve got homework to do. And maybe I’ll sneak into the kitchen later and put Hillary’s favorite snacks on my shelf. See how she likes it.
Copyright 2000 - 2025 21 x 20 Media All rights reserved. This site is property of 21 x 20 Media
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.08 seconds at 11:07am on Mar 15, 2025 via server WEBX1.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author
