So today I was putting on my dark denim jeans. I noticed that for some reason they had gotten quite a bit more snug since the last time I wore them. I’m sure this had nothing to do with Girl Scout Cookies and everything to do with a malfunctioning dryer. Anyway, they still felt fine because of their generous stretch.
I had a flashback to 9th grade. Puberty was in full bloom and curves were popping up on me everywhere. I pulled on my tight Gloria Vanderbilt “designer jeans” with the dark blue denim and bright yellow stitching. I may have had to get down on the floor to zip them. My older sister, still built like a string bean, and whose legs started where my neck stopped, walked into the room and said,
“Just because the label says stretch, doesn’t mean you should wear them.”
We’re just 18 months apart and my sister is my best friend and my biggest fan. We’ve gone through some heavy crap together, most of which we would not have survived without each other. She is my constant cheerleader even when I don’t deserve it, and she takes the prize for being one of my lone blog readers for quite a while.
My sister puts up with my moodiness and my bites her tongue when I’m being a judgmental loser, lashing out at the nearest target—her.
However, despite having gained almost angelic status now, my sister spent the first 15 or so years of my life being somewhat harsh to me.
While I’m thinking of it, I’ll share a couple of other zingers she threw my way during that lovely, angst-filled period of adolescence and early teens.
Anna: (applying makeup)
Sister: (looking Anna up and down)
“Yeah. Don’t ever wear brown eyeliner again.”
Or my favorite:
Sister: (breezing in)
“Anna, do you ever think that God just tacked on that potato sack of a butt of yours as an afterthought?”
Happy Early Birthday, Sis! You know I love you.
p.s. I’ve never worn brown eyeliner again.