The Annoyance
My little brother is an absolute annoyance.
He insists on crashing on Mom’s couch every single night, despite having his own room with a massive bunk bed all to himself. I, on the other hand, have to sleep in my own bed just because I’m older. It hardly seems fair, especially since I managed to sleep in my own space at his age.
Morning time rolls around, and guess who wakes up first? Yep, him. This means he gets to choose the show we watch, which forces me to endure endless episodes of Batman and Star Wars, neither of which I particularly enjoy. And to top it off, he hogs the blanket, leaving my legs cold despite my nightgown, while he’s wrapped snugly in his pajama bottoms.
You’d think at five years old and heading to kindergarten, he’d be able to pick out his own clothes, just like I do. But no, he’s so slow that Mom has to step in and help him, or else he’d never be ready on time.
When he hits me, I might pinch him back, but if I do, it’s me who gets yelled at! So what if my pinch is a bit harder? I’m just stronger.
At dinner, I’m expected to eat seven bites of whatever new food Mom serves, while he only has to choke down one or two bites—how is that fair? He blows bubbles in his milk, but somehow, it’s me who gets in trouble when mine spills over. It’s not my fault that my cheeks can hold more air.
When we play sports, Mom and Dad act like he’s a superstar for merely hitting the ball, which honestly isn’t that impressive. I’m just saving my energy for when it really counts, like hitting him.
His stuffed bear smells like old socks, yet Mom insists it’s the best stuffed animal ever. I adore my stuffed animals just as much, but they don’t get the same attention. I can’t fathom how Mom can call The Annoyance sweet and adorable while showering him with kisses and hugs. They even say he’s “so cool”—yuck! Sometimes, I wonder if they love him more than me.
The Marvel
My older sister believes she’s the epitome of greatness simply because she’s older, and my parents are convinced she’s truly special. But I know the truth: my sister is a brat.
She struts around like she’s accomplished something monumental just because she can read real stories while I concoct my own tales that only make sense to me. Honestly, I prefer my words, even if they are a bit silly.
She thinks she’s so marvelous just because her drawings resemble actual people and animals. My artwork is just as impressive, even if it’s a bit abstract. Yet, Mom can’t stop ooohing and ahhing over her masterpieces, framing them beautifully, while mine get shoved onto the corkboard in the kitchen where no one looks. Sometimes, I can’t help but scribble on hers—fair is fair!
It’s infuriating that she can ride her bike around the neighborhood without falling, while I’m constantly being warned by Mom to “look both ways!” Why does she get to call the shots during our playtime? Just because she comes up with the games doesn’t mean she should dictate all the rules.
And it’s downright unfair that she has playdates every day with kids next door, while my friends live a half-hour away and I hardly get to see them outside of school. Even worse, Mom and Dad always seem to do fun things with her alone, while I get stuck hanging out with my annoying little brother just because we’re both boys.
Mom showers my sister with kisses and tickles, doing all those gross things while Dad claims she’s the one who made us a family. YUCK! Sometimes, I wonder if they love her more than me.
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In summary, sibling rivalry is a timeless struggle, where one feels overshadowed by the other’s accomplishments. The dynamics of love, competition, and attention shape our experiences growing up, making every day a new adventure in family life.
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