It's Like Fear Factor But Someone Always Gets Punched In The End: Why I Should Have Destroyed My Mothers Womb Week

For some cruel twist of fate the universe decided that I needed five siblings and it wasn’t even going to make sure that I was born the oldest so I’d have all the power or the youngest so I’d get all the awesome stuff and never be blamed for anything. No, it decided that I was going to be a middle child.

With my experience as a middle child I’ve come to the conclusion that God must hate middle children because we get the shittiest end of the stick, always. And we aren’t even allowed to wear gloves to handle that shit stick because that honour is reserved for the oldest and the youngest never gets to handle shit because that’s gross.

Growing up we lived on a nice size of land outside of a small town that was basically in the middle of a forest and the only way you were going to interact with anyone who didn’t live in the forest with you was if your parents drove you to town to have fun. And SURPRISE! Your parents hate you so they never drive you to town to have fun. Because of this lack of readily available entertainment my Older Brother got bored a lot.

Unfortunately for us, he had four younger siblings that he could easily terrify into doing anything and I mean anything he wanted. When my parents would go grocery shopping we would beg for them to take us with them and save us from the horror we knew was going to come. And what would our parents do? They’d laugh at us and drive away still laughing because there was no way in fuck they were going to ruin their own chance for escape by bringing us along. If we got tortured in their absence, who cares? Because they got to have a kid free day.

My older brother had a game he’d play and it was sort of like being in the Military, in his mind, because if we didn’t do what he said he’d beat us until we cried, begged, and eventually did what he wanted. This game just so happened to be called “Eat whatever horrible thing I can make on demand” and he’d line us up and attempt to poison us with creativity.

Basically anything he found in the fridge and could be mixed in a cup to look like liquid vomit is what he created. We all had to drink it or die. But the youngest? Nah, he got cookies and pudding and stuff because he was just a toddler and it’d be wrong to do something to him. Oh, and when older brother was feeling generous, yeah the toddler would get to make food we’d be forced to eat.

I’m sure when my parents got home from grocery shopping and we were so overjoyed to see them that sometimes we’d sob and beg them never to leave again they totally figured it was because they were awesome parents who have mastered this whole crazy parenting thing and patted themselves on the back later.

When, really, we were just so god damn happy to have been saved from the Tyranny of older brother.