One of the worst parts of being a last child is that you have very little power.
My sisters are gone most of the time now, but I can not so fondly remember forfeiting the basement and TV to my sisters is they demanded so, and the idiotic arguments that followed: “I was here first.” “I was born first.”
One sister will return soon from college and apparently wants to snatch my vehicle away from me for whatever rationalization she is sticking to.
My parents haven’t really passed judgement on it, but I’m not going down without a fight. She has a functioning car, and I have a functioning car that I inherited after I was forced to dump my beloved Camry.
By the right of use, the car is mine, and I shall not swap simply because she demands it.