I woke up in the morning to the sun on my sleepy face. It was the first day of summer, the first day of freedom. The grandfather clock chimed eight as I pulled my legs from under my quilt, placing my feet on the cold hardwood. As I drifted to the closet, Lottie yelled, "Marie! Are you up yet?"
"Yeah," I replied with a sigh, "sadly."
"Come on! Let's go to the pool already!" she exclaimed. Chances are, Lottie was already dressed in her brand-new bikini (her first), with sunblock in hand.
"I just woke up. Plus, it's busy today. Go with Susie," I coaxed. My younger sister Lottie was eight years old, and in a stage in which she had to do EVERYTHING imaginable with me. Movie nights and slumber parties with my friends were always excruciating for that exact reason. Mom agreed with her "perfect angel", so I, of course, had to take her everywhere I went. What a drag.
"Marie! Take your sister to the pool! It's already eight!" Mom yelled from the kitchen. It was a Saturday, so she was h0me preparing a slow-cooker meal.
By this time I was already dressed, moaning, "Exactly my point. Wait six hours." This made Lottie burst into tears.
"But I- I want t-to g-g-go!" she sputtered in-between wails. Of course, Mother couldn't stand to see her prize child cry.
"Marie!" she screamed, "take her. Now." She wasn't joking. I hated being oldest. Groaning, I grabbed my suit and reluctantly put on my flip-flops. Lottie had stopped bawling (thankfully), and was getting our bikes out of the garage.
"Great," I mumbled to myself, "going to the incredibly crowded pool was exactly what I wanted to do with my first day of freedom. What fun."