Drawing Blood

I was 4 years old and my parents had gone out for the night so we had a babysitter. My sister was asleep and me and my brother were playing in the basement. I was setting up my tea party and invited our babysitter to play with me. My brother waltz on over like he owned the basement and sat down in one of my chairs, and I bite him. Hard. Drew blood in fact and am still proud of it today. But I also got sent to time out and the memory ends there.

My parents should've known by then I was going to be one feisty bitch. And I was all while growing up. I broke curfew numerous times, and not just by a few minutes but by hours. I dated any person I knew would drive them crazy, including someone four years my senior. Lied about where I was going and who I would be with. I always said what I was thinking, even when I was young, rather it was the right time or if it was rude. I started cussing in 6th grade. I learned I could "gleak" on demand (look it up) and started shooting my sister in the eye. And once I started hooking up with boys, I was a force to be reckon with. I went to college and would get mad at them and not talk to them for days and I would go against their advice and do things I wanted to do. I won't lie even now I think I know better than them, and I have been proven wrong.
So why the hell was I surprised when my mom told me she worried about me more than any one else in my family? (this including my 17 year old sister who I swear at the age she is dating guys is next in line for Hef's next girlfriend). Because as honest as I am, as bitchy and insensitive I can be, I crumble like the fence of Holocaust camps after WW2 was over (which I'm assuming wasn't an easy task but the outcome was tremendous). I've cried after every break up I've ever been through, I've bawled over grades, rumors, and minor family problems. My heart reaches out to anyone I care about 24/7. My mom, and anyone else who knows me, worries about me because when it comes to saying no, or doing something that displeases someone, I crack like an egg rolling off Mount Kilimanjaro.
But you would never guess that by looking at me.
You can't judge a book by its cover, even when they just sank their teeth into you.

Fair warning I'm on cold medicine, so the metaphors or whatever I'm aware are a little ridiculous. I also find this joke above freaking hysterical.