The Butt-Fart-Death-Grip

Ever since I could remember, anyone and everyone, would always ask me this question, “What was it like to grow up with four brothers?” I always felt a little speechless with this question, and a little annoyed. I mean, how would I know anything different? To me, growing up with four brothers was just normal. Well, “normal” for me. So, here I am, attempting to answer the question with memory of a common interaction between me and my oldest brother. Here's a little picture of what "normal" was like for a girl stuck in the middle of four boys!

Firstly, I need to communicate just how much bigger my oldest brother was than me. He was a good four years older than me, and was not some stringy, thin older brother either. And I was definitely a girl, meaning I was, in no way, stronger than him. 

Secondly, I was "mostly" (yes I do realize I was probably the typical annoying little sister) an innocent bystander to his "shenanigans".  Most of the times, I would be sitting on the couch enjoying a TV show that wasn’t football, basketball or baseball, minding my own little business. My oldest brother would come along, see that I was just sitting there, obviously enjoying myself a little too much, and most likely irritated that I had gotten control of the channel box (aka remote control). Then, all of a sudden, and completely out of no where and beyond my control, he would tackle me down on the couch, manage to get his butt on my face, and release a big, nasty, full of intestinal odor, fart. No kicking, yelling, punching, or squirming could release me from the butt-fart-death-grip. Unfortunately for me, this was a common interaction between me and my oldest brother and until he moved out and on to college did I see the end of these butt-fart-death-grips.