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I'm a third child of four. It's hard to explain what this is like, especially to eldest children. I'm married to an eldest of four, and when we go home to visit his family, and I ask him, "What time will we all be meeting for dinner?" he answers, "Whenever I show up." This is an alternative universe to me, or, rather, I'm the moon to his favored sun; I enjoy the brief pleasure of reflecting his light under these circumstances, but, like Cinderella returning from the ball, I'm back to sweeping cinders once the magic dies out and I return to my regular life. Okay, so it's not a perfect metaphor, but it works for me.

My question for the experts tonight is, am I doomed here? I mean, I look out over the cast of Shakespeare's characters and all I come up with for middle children are Regan and Richard III. And they aren't exactly what I'd call well adjusted, happy people. Thoughts?

Hamlet: I don't understand the premise of your question. Who are you, and why are you interrupting my thoughts?

Ophelia: Of course you don't understand! Why would you? You're just the kind of selfish only child that she's talking about!

Hamlet: Oh, give it a rest. You're not a middle child, you're a youngest. So cut the crap.

Regan: Yeah. Listen, blondie, you don't know shit about being a middle. I ripped out a guys eyeballs and I'm still the sister no one remembers.

Ophelia: Wait--aren't you Goneril's sister? Goneril is so cool!

Regan: Why? What did she ever do?

Ophelia: I don't know, but I want to follow her around and wear her clothes.

Regan: Aahhhhhhhh!