When I was a kid, my oldest sister Sean was the only one allowed to use the washing machine, so it was her responsibility to wash my clothes. My sisters shared a room (it was bubble gum pink, too) which meant they had their own clothes hamper (we just called it the “dirtyclothes”).

But since I had my own room, the protocol was to check with me before she washed clothes, or at least look in my dirtyclothes. Especially since we both knew that the centrifugal force of Earth’s gravitational pull would disintegrate if we washed TWO LOADS of clothes in one day!

WHO DOES THAT? Not in MY MAMA’s house. Does she look like Richie Rich to you? Mama Warbucks? Two Loads? Do you have some two loads money? If Jesus wanted us to wash two loads he woulda given us two washing machines. Don’t be stupid. When she was my age, you know how yu had to wash clothes? With spit and a rock. And even then, she wouldn’t have washed two loads! Even if she was caught between a rock and a hard place. Are you out of your cotton-picking mi...

Oh wait. I got carried away.

Anyway, I can’t recall what happened but Sean and I got into an argument over something and Sean got mad at me. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t have been a problem. The only thing she really cared about was that nasty Cane Patch syrup (she loved that shit!) Sean didn’t usually hold grudges because... everyone knew, Sean could fight.

But here is where the problem was:

Comelita and Robin.

See, many people believe my sister Comelitas is one of the sweetest people in the world. But they don’t know her like I do. She is one of the pettiest people ever born. To be fair, she was pretty nice when she was by herself. But there was a way to amplify her petty.

Robin.

Robin wasn’t as petty (Because she could fight, too). But she was smart. And when her genius combined with Comelita’s pure evil, they merged and became a petty Voltron.

This is what I had to deal with ALL MY LIFE. And because they all shared a room, they plotted against me, y’all. I would probably have 19 more points on my IQ if I hadn’t expended so much brain power counteracting all this evil, petty headstrong nonsense. I blame them for me not getting into Harvard. (Did I apply? No. But only because I knew my sisters would have sabotaged me anyway.)

So, it was the night before the biggest day of every child’s year. There’s only one day more important than Christmas, birthdays and an Afterschool special day:

Picture day.

You know what I’m talking about. It’s the day when you get to wear your finest OshKoshery, so your dopeness will be enshrined in yearbooks forever. Picture day is so important, it’s one of the few days when you can wear church clothes to school. I’m talking pastors' anniversary-level garments and shoes that have Holy Ghost shouting experience.

On the day that Sean and I got into it, I could feel in my spirit that shenanigans were afoot. I don’t know why. I had probably prayed really hard that week at church. Plus I was reading Thessalonians REAL hard back then, so God had probably hit me with a little extra anointing that week. You know what they say: “the Holy Ghost will lead and guide you through tomfoolery.”

So I get ready to lay my clothes out for picture day, and realize my dirtyclothes is full, but theirs is empty

I knew exactly what had happened. Comelita and Robin had convinced Sean not to wash my clothes!

This had Comelita and Robin written all over it. They were giggling too much. I gotta admit, it was a ingeniously petty plan.

So, what does one do, in a time like this? I only had one choice to save my picture day:

I had to outpetty the Petty Sisters. But how?

First, I started looking for a shirt. I looked for it all day to no avail. I asked them to help me look. They wouldn’t because they knew I was up to something. I had one window of opportunity and I knew I had to play this carefully. Robin was too smart, so she couldn’t be around. Sean was too strong, so I had to get rid of her.

But Comelita...

See, if Robin wasn’t around, Comelita went back to her sweet self. I begged her, with tears in my eyes, to help me find my shirt. She agreed to help me search for my it and, while Sean washed dishes and Robin took a shower, Comelita looked EVERYWHERE.

Only, there was no shirt.

While their room was empty, I snuck into their room and performed the evilest, petty act of all time.

Y’all I don’t even know how to say this without being canceled but:

I poured out Sean’s Cane Patch Syrup...

On EVERYBODY’S picture day clothes!

When they discovered what had happened, it took a while for them to realize what the substance even was! There was silence at first, which quickly turned to anger and grief.

“Well,” I said. “I guess you gotta ask mama if you can wash a second load.”

A SECOND LOAD? This was unheard of in my family. But since Sean was in charge of washing clothes, everybody was screwed for picture day

Until I volunteered to save the day.

I volunteered to approach mama and ask her about a second load, but only if Sean washed my picture day shirt. They agreed because I knew all the buttons to push. My mother agreed and, for the first time in Harriot House history, we were allowed to wash two loads.

This is how politics works.

My sister stayed up into the wee hours of the morning washing that syrup off of everyone’s clothes. When she was almost finished, I tiptoed to my mama’s room, tapped on her door and said I thought I heard something

I made it back to my room and closed the door just as I heard her ask Sean:

“Sean...Are you washing a second load?”

I lied to my sisters

I never asked my mom for permission.

And when my mom looked through the laundry, all the clothes belonged to them

They spent all night listening to my mama rant about washing two loads like they had TWO jobs. They need a beating with TWO BELTS. How about TWO WEEKS’ punishment?

They were still mad at me the next morning.

Now, I don’t know why they were so upset. If I wouldn’t have lied and told Sean that she had permission to do two loads, they’d be wearing syrupy underwear to school on picture day. So technically, I saved them from going to school smelling like pancakes and being saddled with nicknames like “ Buttersworth Butt” or “Aunt Jemima Vagina.”

And if you’re wondering why I should get credit for solving a problem I caused…

I thought that’s what we were doing today