Sororal Condescension

A few days back, Eli attempted to pour herself a glass of water with a pitcher nearly half her size. The result was predictable. Minutes later, after a few firm words of maternal reproof, Eli was on her hands and knees, mopping up the lake she had left on the dining room floor, chanting “Sing, Sweet Nightingale,” just like Cinderella. Her warbling had a plaintive tone, and Julia seized the occasion to extend some big-sisterly consolation. “Don’t worry, Eli,” said the big sister, patting the little sister condescendingly on the hand. “When you’re fifteen, you’ll be able to pour your own water.”