I'm Sorry Your Finger Isn't a Cheeto....

A rather amusing anecdote from my younger days... This may help to explain the complicated relationship between Hannah and I.

It’s the beginning of those lazy, carefree summer days in Utah, the sun is shining and there’s a slight breeze. And yet my sister, Hannah, and I are stuck inside, sitting on the top of our lofty staircase staring at the wall with a family size bag of Cheetos wedged between us. We shove handful after mindless handful of the cheesy snacks into our mouths, not uttering a word. Sometime during this junk-food binge I hear a high-pitched shriek coming from my sister and am shaken from my previous zoned-out state. “Ouch! Mo-om!!!” She exclaims, “Sarah just bit my finger!” My mother rushes in, and, after hearing my sister’s theatrical retelling of what I had supposedly done, sends me to my room without any explanation. I, being only five at the time, was somewhat perplexed by my current condition; all I knew was one moment I was lazily munching on my favorite snack and the next, was sentenced to my room by a stern looking parent. After what seemed like an eternity, my mom came in and told me it was okay to come out now, as long as I promised to promptly apologize to my “injured” sibling. Still unsure of what exactly I was apologizing for, I started the long, shameful walk down the hall to where Hannah was sitting, looking down and sniffling, holding ice to her finger. That’s when it hit me – my sister had told my mom that I had purposefully bit her finger, and while I’m sure that was true in her mind, in mine I wasn’t even aware that what I picked up, assuming to be a Cheeto, was in fact, my own sister’s pointer. Realizing this, and immediately feeling terrible for causing her any pain whatsoever, I closed the few remaining feet between us and, with that irresistible puppy-dog look on my face, said, “I’m sorry your finger isn’t a Cheeto.”