Not to many of you knew it, but I have been spending the last two weeks of my summer at my grandparents’ house in Holland, also known as “The Netherlands.” My time here as been well spent, and by “well spent” I mean that I want to go home now. All the other times I’ve been to Europe I’ve gone to Italy or France and now it sucks. Instead of being able to lie out in the sun all day it’s rained all week and the most exciting thing I’ve seen is a windmill that makes wheat. You know what else makes wheat? Massive factories in the Midwest that don’t require pussy wind.
But my least favorite part of coming to Holland is dealing with my spoiled cousin Justine. My cousin is so annoying that I’ve actually complained about her on my last trip to Europe, but this year is so much worse. Since she lives a few blocks from my grandparents, I have to hang out in her room and play with her toys. Every day. You see, Justine is an “only child,” and the readers of this site know how much I hate those kids. Only Childs are created when the parents are too much of pussies to deal with a second child, so instead they spend 80% of their finances making sure that the first child is the best. The result? Spoiled assholes on “My Sweet 16” crying because their parents didn’t buy them the BMW M6 convertible in pink.
Justine is only seven years old, so I don’t blame her for craving attention. In fact, I’m not as mad at Justine as I am at her parents, my aunt and uncle. It’s not her fault that she screams and whines and annoys everyone around her to the point where they give in to her demands, it’s the fault of her parents for allowing her to think that’s the proper behavior. In my family, whining for a toy would get you one thing: smacked in the face. Have you ever been smashed in the face with an elbow? I’ll tell you one thing: it’ll make you care a lot less about the G.I. Joe Fighter Jet with retractable wings.
Justine’s parents wouldn’t dare hit her. They don’t even yell at her. Hell, I’d be damned if they’ve ever parented her! They’re essentially her bitches. Justine gets whatever she wants one way or another, simply by screaming at them. You see, when you only have one child, you want to make sure that that child loves you unconditionally. Whereas other parents have a second or third child to give their attention to when one claims to “hate them,” the parents of only childs have to make sure that their offspring never consider hating them. So, when Justine wants to stay an extra 10 minutes in the playground when dinner is already on the table, all she has to scream is “I HATE YOU DADDY I HATE YOU!” and the father is suddenly in defense. He doesn’t want his child hating him, so what can he do to fix it? Well, I guess another 10 minutes on the jungle gym is okay if it makes her stop hating you, right? Wrong. Your daughter has just made you her bitch, and you can just stand off to the side and watch her go down the slide while your dinner gets cold, you spineless bastard.
Justine never gets disciplined. Her parents are scared to discipline her for fear of her hating them. Instead, they justify her tantrums with bullshit excuses. “Oh, she had to wake up at 8:15 this morning, that’s why she’s really grouchy.” No, your daughter is grouchy because she’s a spoiled bitch who is given whatever she wants. Grow a pair and tell your daughter No.
Does anyone else remember the Clean Plate Club? It was an exclusive group that you wanted to be in, and you could only join if everything on your dinner plate was gone. And I mean eaten, you couldn’t slip your extra ham to the dog or else you were rejected at the door by the Clean Plate Club bouncer. And everyone in the Clean Plate Club got dessert! But only if you were in the club. If you weren’t, you had to sit with your dinner plate in front of you and watch as everyone else sucked down their Creamsicles while you stared at the broccoli in front of you. No Clean Plate Club; no dessert.
Well apparently the Clean Plate Club was bought out by an asshole with only one child, and he changed the name to It Doesn’t Matter How Much Food Is Left On Your Plate Because All You Have To Do Is Complain And You Automatically Get Dessert Club. Out of the two weeks I was here, my cousin didn’t finish a single meal. In fact, she didn’t even have to eat the food that she didn’t want to; my grandmother individually picked the mushrooms out of Justine’s lasagna while the rest of us simply picked around them. Yet at the end of dinner, after all my food was eaten and Justine’s plate looked like Nichole Richie had just picked at it, we all got the same amount of dessert. And if Justine wanted more ice cream, she just had to complain and boom—she would have seconds.
My anger reached its limit last night when we were at dinner. As a side, we had french fries. In Europe, it is custom to put mayonnaise on your french fries, potatoes, etc. The night before we had potatoes, so there was a very small amount of mayonnaise left. Aware of this, my sister got the tube out and finished it off, only getting enough for maybe three or four fries. Justine then parades to the table and demands mayo. She refuses to eat without it and runs away from the table crying. CRYING. This child is crying because she didn’t get a condiment she wanted.
Well guess what happened. Justine’s parents took half of my sister’s mayo and gave it to Justine, who wasted it all on one fry and then ate her other 20 plain. Outraged at what had just happened, I decided to write this post.
Shit like this would never have happened in my family. Ever. Not only because I wasn’t an only child, but because my parents are pussies who play to their children’s pathetic needs. You know what would have happened if I had left the dinner table in a tantrum over mayonnaise? My dinner plate would have been emptied into the toilet and I wouldn’t have been allowed to eat. My parents took no bullshit from anyone. I specifically remember having timeouts so long I could feel my chin-hairs growing. You know my father’s favorite line? “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.”
I think my parents favorite form of discipline was the wooden spoon. If me and my brother started bickering or if I was being stubborn, my mom would get a look on her face that meant business. She would grow silent and rush to the kitchen, where I would hear her open a drawer, rummage through cutlery, and slam the drawer shut.
I would scamper anywhere I could find. Behind the couch, under the coffee table, or into my room, I would scurry for safety, but not before my mom got a few good smacks on my head with the tool. To this day I never look at a wooden spoon the same. My dad, on the other hand, would use only his hands, which he managed to transform into amazing weapons of discipline. Whether it was a few smacks across the head a tight “Grab and drag” of my arm down the hallway, I would be yelled at if I was late to dinner, cried over something idiotic, or even thought about acting spoiled.
I’m glad my parents hit me, too. Because I see now what would have happened to me if I hadn’t. I see kids my age crying over spilt milk and getting whatever they want. My girlfriend was also hit, and because of that she doesn’t take anything for granted. You definitely won’t see her bitching about wanting more mayonnaise. That might be because she hates mayonnaise, but you get the point.
Because Justine was never beat or yelled at or even contradicted, she has become the world’s biggest bitch. At age seven! She thinks she can control everyone and if they don’t do exactly what she says, she gets upset. Here is a conversation I overheard between her and my sister who were playing “pretend”:
Justine– Pretend that you’re my mom and that I’m the prettiest girl in the world. Pretend that I have to go away to camp. “Goodbye mother, I’m going off the camp.” Now say ‘how long will you be gone?’
My sister [emotionless]- “How long will you be gone?”
Justine– “Just two weeks.” Now say ‘Two weeks?! That’s so long!”
My sister– Two weeks, that’s so long.
Justine– Now say that you want to come with me.
My sister– “I’m going to have your father go with you”
Justine– NO SAY THAT YOU WANT TO COME WITH ME!
My sister– “I want to come with you”
Justine– “No, I want dad to go with me”
Whenever I call Justine out on her bitchiness she ignores me. On multiple occasions I’ve asked “Why are you being so mean?” only for her to turn her back and walk away. Luckily I’ve leaving tomorrow so I’ll no longer have to fight the urge to shove my foot down her throat. Kids like these should be shipped off to a military school where they are shown how to respect people older than them and realize that the world doesn’t revolve around them. Hopefully I won’t see my cousin for another 10 years or so, but I suspect I’ll see her on a future episode of “Sweet 16.” No doubt she’ll want a car filled with mayonnaise.