It's My Way or the Highway

I was smack dab in the middle of 6 children growing up. Add to that the fact that I have 2 older sisters: one a dancing queen princess of everything, the other a jealous, raging drama queen (who may or may not have grown up since then), and then you get me, the bookworm, the one who pulls straight A's at everything. Report cards aren't nearly as exciting as watching your daughter dance at a college football game, getting a phone call from the police that they found your 14-year-old run-away daughter and her 18-year-old boyfriend, or spending the night in the hospital after another teen-suicide attempt. I didn't get much attention when I was a kid, which is why I think I became a doormat for so many years.

I have mentioned before that I was that girl for a long time. I was sickeningly compliant to the whims of every guy I dated. This is not untrue of my current relationship, which is why, even now that I've come a long way and started demanding what I should rightfully demand, I don't think I'm demanding enough.

Which leads me to now. My new roomie, Ben, and I were at the Home Depot where I was trying to pick out paint for the newly remodeled bathroom. I might obsess a little about things being exactly perfect, and he might have been ready to kill me.

But after 35 minutes or so of looking at different shades of green, I was like, "But why can't everything be the way I want it to be?" I was referring to the house which I spend half my paycheck paying for every month, but Prankster Ass stamps his foot and says, "But I want it now, daddy!" Please tell me you've all seen the original Willy Wonka and can imagine his 6-foot-tall gangly impersonation of Veruca.

I became Veruca this weekend. And while I originally was only referring to the fact that my house should be exactly the way I want it and I should be able to boss the boys around, I really think this is going to be my new attitude in life. So long, doormat, hello, Veruca.