I cannot believe this. I just can’t.  That little bitch, pardon my language, but this is so beyond the pale that that’s the nicest word I can use.  After all we’ve done for her.  I don’t even know where to start.

I guess with the housecleaning thing.  Cinderella is OCD.  No, really, I mean it.  She was officially diagnosed by a psychiatrist and everything.  Won’t take her meds.  We never asked her to clean anything.  And she’s made our lives a living hell.  It would look like no one lived here if it was up to her.  She entered a state of rage cleaning when I once left my library book on the piano while I ate lunch.  She thought I should have returned the book to the basket she bought for library books.  Everything has a specific place.  Everything.  And she goes nuts if you don’t use it.

I do all the cooking. I like to cook, but not with her around.  I like to gather all the ingredients, use them as I cook, and put them away when I’m done. She thinks I should go back and forth to the pantry fetching and returning each one in turn.  Bah! Sister cleans the kitchen, but can’t meet Cinderella’s standards, so she cleans it a second time grumbling about how she has to do everything if it’s to be done right.

And the talking and singing with the animals.  Good grief.  We live in a 3-bedroom apartment in Queens.  No deer, no rabbits.  Yeah, there are birds.  We’ve seen and heard Cinderella stand at an open window and sing and dance.  It never occurred to us she thought she was communing with forest creatures.  I mean, really, why would we?  And singing?  Cinderella can’t carry a tune even with a little red wagon and a small boy to pull it for her.  She’s dreadfully tone-deaf.

All we’ve done to try and make her a part of our family!  I’m sorry her father died.  He was a good stepfather and I miss him, but we only knew him for a few months.  Of course, we didn’t mourn as hard as she did.  But we felt so sorry for her – all alone in the world.  We made sure she understood that this was her home now and we were her family.  We were generous to a fault with her.  All of her dad’s money, even that bequeathed to us, is in a trust not to be released to her until she’s 21.  We’ve been paying for everything.

And the ball.  My God! What a debacle that was.  The Met called the police when she tried to crash it while wearing her prom dress and silver shoes from the Goodwill.

I could go on and on, but you should get the picture now.