Siren's Christmas Bastard Part IV: Dustin's Sister Danielle

by Siren

Okay, so you've had the pleasure of hearing all about Dustin, the product of poor parenting skills, ADD, and Satan. Sadly, Dustin is not an only child. He has a four-year-old sister who is apparently a hellion in training.

I spent last weekend at my parents' house, and lucky for me, Danielle was there for the weekend as well. She was supposed to be staying with her Dad for the weekend, but he had better things to do and promptly dumped Danielle off on us instead. He neglected to bring any toys for her to play with, and the only clothes accompanying Danielle were the ones on her body. Apparently, Danielle's dad wasn't on the fly about what a little pig his daughter is. By the time breakfast was over, Danielle had food, dirt, and some sort of red liquid all over her shirt.

She had these ugly pink cowboy boots with fringe all over them, and insisted on clomping around the house all day in them. At lunch, she informed me that she was a cowgirl, which you might think sounds cute, but nothing is cute when spoken in the tone Danielle uses.

I find other peoples' children terribly hard to get along with. Each of these kids believes everything their parents tell them, regardless. I was given a stern lecture by my 10-year-old cousin about how living in Houston was bad, and a lot more people got killed in Houston than in Bridge City, and I should move back immediately. She didn't, however, compare the sizes of the respective populations, nor did she take into account the many people who end up blowing their heads off because they live in Bridge City and have realized that they're stuck there forever, or the people who got knocked up in high school, got married, and work at a Shamrock station to support their seven children. You can't, however, explain this to a 10-year-old who's been told all her life that living in "the big city" is dangerous and one should steer clear of any town with a population greater than five thousand.

So Danielle is one of these kids who says everything in a matter-of-fact tone, as if she's obviously correct, and you're just an idiot. Remember, she's four years old, which makes it extra unnerving.

I put on this badass shirt I'd bought in a thrift store, red with an oriental pattern of white flowers and belled-out sleeves. Danielle took one look at me and squealed "Look what [siren] is WEARing!" and burst into laughter. The fact that she was wearing a t-shirt with kool-aide stains and dirt all over it with soiled underpants and filthy shorts apparently didn't bother her, however.

The fact that she's four years old and already brainwashed to believe that anything that isn't run of the mill and common is ugly and/or humorous, although it makes me fairly angry, doesn't surprise me at all. Her mother is exactly the same.

Danielle's dad wasn't home from gallavanting yet, so we were forced to bring Danielle with us when my dad took us out to eat. It was a Mexican restaurant, and Danielle insisted on getting beans and rice with her child's plate of chicken nuggets, instead of the usual fries that came with it. This cost extra, but she showed signs of a tantrum, so beans and rice it was. Halfway through the meal, she decided she wanted fries. My dad was teasing, telling her she was going to have to take the beans home with her and eat them for breakfast, and she made a hissing noise at him and said through clenched teeth, "I can PUNCH and BITE and KICK." My dad was less than thrilled with this, and after telling her he was never going to take her out to eat again, stopped talking to her. She hissed again and proceeded to pretend to cry while crawling around under the booth. Danielle's grandmother apparently saw no problem with any of this. Her behavior continued throughout the meal, ending with my dad vowing never to take Danielle anywhere ever again for as long as they both shall live.

When we dropped Danielle off at her father's house, she turned into some kind of scary huggy creature. She blew kisses and grinned from ear to ear at us, insisting we all get out of the car so she could "hug our necks."

I could think of something much better to do to her neck, however.